


Pretty Boy

by Melimelo



Series: Weston/Edmund series - OW [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Prison, Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, But um later, By which I mean Hate Sex to Friendly Hookups to Sweet Love Making, Cheating, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feminization, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Oral Sex, Please wear condoms, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Prison Sex, Rape is only discussed in the firsts chapters but I'm still tagging it as a warning, Read at Your Own Risk, They're going to fall in love, Unprotected Sex, Verbal Humiliation, at first, could be even considered, you know where this is going
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 65,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26209594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melimelo/pseuds/Melimelo
Summary: “Boss,” Matt breathed out on his right, the words almost flying well above Edmund’s head if it hadn’t been followed by a, “do you see that? Gorgeous bitch,” that snapped him out of his fantasies.Looking around the room for a second time, Edmund’s jaw clenched when he saw no one had looked away yet. Some were sporting self-satisfied smirk, as if they already had the pretty boy moaning and keening under them, which… was impossible. This was the boy’s first meal here, Edmund could see it plainly, which meant he had been transferred there during the morning, not before. Others, even amongst his own men, were simply gaping at him, their own food forgotten.“Look away,” Edmund gritted between his teeth, “this one’s mine.”--Or a very indulgent prison smut fest
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Weston/Edmund series - OW [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2060514
Comments: 119
Kudos: 397





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Additional warnings:  
> This is very cliché. I'm not trying to be original plot wise, I'm trying to write (hopefully good) smut. Because I usually struggle at writing smut, hence the Read at your own risk tag. I do my best, and I hope I'll get better the more advanced this story'll be, but I can't promise anything.  
> I don't really know much about prison  
> 
> 
> Smut is coming by in chapter 3, so stay tuned if you're mostly here for the sexy times
> 
> Other than that, enjoy the ride!

Silence fell on the self just as Edmund took his glass to his lips. All mumbled chatter, all annoying cutlery’s clatter, all half-playful fights died down as if someone had just blown off a candle. Darting a glance across the large room, Edmund let his hand fall between his legs, hiding under the table, fingers grazing at the spot on his leg, where his razor blade was tied to his calf. A mere precautionary measure in case things turned south, but none of the men gathered there seemed about to move toward his table.

All their gazes were turned to the opposite wall, where the arch leading to the queue was, and, precisely, to the man crossing it.

A small, derisive smirk pulled at his lips, and he was about to roll his eyes and mutter a few chosen words to Matt, sat next at his right – something about how telling it was, of their boring lives, that the sight of a new face attracted so much attention an entire room full of dozens of men collectively held on a single breathe – when his gaze fell onto that new face for a second time, and couldn’t budge away again.

Pretty.

The other man was pretty. Edmund wasn’t one for over sugared, mellow compliments usually, but in the privacy of his own mind, he let the word slip. As he padded closer to the table Edmund was at, his eyes lifting from the ground to throw uncertain looks around himself, Edmund's smirk grew wider.

Yes, very pretty.

A soft face, almost girlish in its looks, with long, blond bangs that fell into his eyes as he lowered them back to the ground, plump cheeks and pink, pouty lips that called to be bitten, and a long, bared neck. His figure was lean, and Edmund internally cursed once again those large, ill-fitting jumpsuits. The boy looked like he was drowning in it, the legs and sleeves rolled up at the end, the latter in either a laughable attempt of making him look more threatening or a more practical one of keeping them off his hands. Both bared bony wrists and ankles, the sight which made Edmund’s nose scrunch a little, as he preferred his fucks healthier looking.

Still, despite that imperfection and the overly-large clothes hiding the most interesting part from close inspection – his ass looked round enough, but with the skeletal looking wrists, Edmund knew not to get his hopes too high – the boy was still the most enticing thing he had laid eyes on in the past months.

The uncomfortable shifts, as well as the way his shoulders hunched, as if he wanted to make himself smaller, and his head had stayed low, were only added bonuses. At least he was aware of his place in the great scheme of this place. Edmund basked in the sight, his legs spreading almost unconsciously as he continued to bore a hole in the back of the new boy’s head, watching him shuffle around, and then finally find a spot to put his tray down and sit.

“Boss,” Matt breathed out on his right, the words almost flying well above Edmund’s head if it hadn’t been followed by a, “do you see that? Gorgeous bitch,” that snapped him out of his fantasies.

Looking around the room for a second time, Edmund’s jaw clenched when he saw no one had looked away yet. Some were sporting self-satisfied smirk, as if they already had the pretty boy moaning and keening under them, which… was impossible. This was the boy’s first meal here, Edmund could see it plainly, which meant he had been transferred there during the morning, not before. Others, even amongst his own men, were simply gaping at him, their own food forgotten.

“Look away,” Edmund gritted between his teeth, “this one’s mine.” His upper body relaxed as, one by one, his men complied, some looking as if the order was paining them while others, more loyal ones, trusted fellows like Matt, muttered an apology and switched their attention to something else. Satisfied, Edmund gestured for Harry, one of the watchdogs in their pocket, to come. “Why is he here?” he asked, his head jerking to where pretty boy was still wolfing down his disgusting, unprivileged meal.

“The name’s Weston Conn-”

“Did I ask for his name, Baivey? I don’t give a fuck about his name.” Edmund took a sip, waiting for Harry’s answer, eyes still trained on the boy.

“Drugs, sir.”

The announcement brought some sputtering around him, and Edmund couldn’t blame them. Drugs? He took another look at the pretty boy. Judging by his looks, he had thought he had been caught in one brothel or another, or even out in the streets – he had even started to entertain the idea to offer him a job at one of theirs, not to let such a face go to waste. Not a whore, then, at least not officially. From the murmurs he caught from his men, he hadn’t been the only one to be lured down the wrong path. Well, it promised a different sort of interesting. 

“Missed his calling, then,” he added to the hush of remarks, making some of his men snort and guffaw. “Pity.” Though certainly not for him. Whore or not, the boy was still pretty, and a fool if he’d turn down the offer he’d make him. He would be the one to have him, Edmund swore as he stared at all the other men still ogling.

This one meal, Edmund would leave them this one meal, indulging in what they’ll never have. But tonight, tonight the pretty boy will be his.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter!
> 
> Hope you enjoy

Only when the sunlight literally burned his eyes did Weston look down. Blinded, he blinked slowly until the white spots transformed to various black ones, before they faded as well and Weston saw his own feet, clad in those ugly, heavy shoes, and the concrete ground. As soon as the pain in his eyes had receded, he lifted his face back up, to the sky.

It made him feel free, or at least freer than if he looked anywhere else around him. The yard was small, cramped despite the few prisoners gathered there – the low number of them a surprise, but Weston wasn’t going to complain about it.

Thanks to all the others’ decision to stay inside, he had secured a bench to himself, and didn’t feel the hungry, mocking glares as much as he had previously. Like at the self, during lunch. He shuddered just to think back about it, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, peered at, ogled at still more than fresh in his memory. Dozens of eyes had turned to him and had stared unashamedly at him, not leaving him with a second of respite, turning him sicker than the awful maybe-porridge he had eaten. He had told himself it had just been the novelty – survive through that first meal, that first hour, that first day, and tomorrow the novelty would wear off and he would be left alone.

God, he hoped the novelty would wear off.

Gazing up at the sky made him feel like he wasn’t stuck there, having to spend the next months being ogled at like a piece of meat. Locked between walls, he who hated that, more than anything in the world… But he had made his choice.

Even the sky was hidden by grillage, which was why he had started to stare so openly at the sun, despite his ma’s recommendations echoing in his head, from where he had been a little boy. After some time, the light turned blinding enough that the grillage mingled with the sky, and disappeared. Then, he could imagine he was sitting in the grass, instead of concrete, with the forest surrounding him, and not barbed walls.

Gulping, Weston started his little game anew when he felt someone sit down next to him, body facing the other way but definitely looking at him.

“Here you are, pretty boy,” the man said for all greeting, and Weston closed his eyes, holding back a long-suffering sigh. 

It was the third one who came to him, since he arrived at the incarceration center this morning, all of them giving a barely changing version of the same greeting. And that nickname, Weston thought as he gritted his teeth, how he hated that nickname.

“I’m not interested,” he said, hoping to cut the conversation short and make the man leave. The second one had done so, to his pleasant surprise, and Weston had hoped it would mean all the others would do the same. Seemed fitting, after all: the first one who had come to him had been the most stubborn, glaring at him and cursing him even as he stomped away, like a child one would have refused a toy, and Weston had surmised he must be the most important one. To turn him away should have made all the others understand he would turn them away, as well.

“Oh really? But you don’t even know what I’m offering.”

The last word almost made him roll his eyes, and Weston turned to face the other man. His voice had been quiet and smooth, a stark difference with the previous ones who had maybe thought he would be impressed by growling sounds, but he immediately disliked his eyes. They were staring at him way too confidently for his comfort, and Weston didn’t miss the contemptuous glint that flicked through them. Weston allowed his own to show, in return. “I doubt your _offer_ ,” he almost snorted at that word. As if it were a favor they were giving to him, out of the goodness of their hearts, “will be much different than the previous ones. I wasn’t interested in the previous ones, I’m not in yours.”

The other guy’s eyebrows pulled into a frown, and his lips thinned even more than they already were. In one second, his face minutely shifted, annoyance flooding into his dark eyes, as he tutted. “Don’t be so categorical.”

“I have a boyfriend.”

The guy scoffed. “How sweet for you. Well, I’m sure you’ll think about him when everyone here is having a go at you.” Weston shuddered, his eyes narrowing at the other guy’s face, examining his features. He wasn’t as bad looking as the others were, he had to give him that, but probably thought it would be enough to sweep him off his feet. All external beauty vanished when Weston had noticed the coldness in his eyes, however. Then, it turned more unnerving than vaguely good-looking.

He had managed to make that empty threat ring truer than the other two had, as well, but Weston knew better. This wasn’t a prison horror porn, this was reality. He opted not to mention it.

“This isn’t going to scare me into sleeping with you. So, save your breath and save my time.” He ended up with a flicking wave of his hand, shooing the guy away without any words.

“You’re not scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

“Why? The boyfriend isn’t here to keep you safe, pretty boy.”

Weston held back his snort. He had a few tricks up his sleeve, but like hell he was going to waste them to make that guy go. “I don’t need anyone to keep me safe. I’m not scared of you. And don’t call me that,” he added, gritting the last part through his teeth as annoyance turned his eyes into a glare.

“You should be.”

“You sound ridiculous.” Weston glanced at him, and then slowly looked up and down in his body, in an obvious manner, as if he were checking him out if it weren’t for the sneer, taking in the curled hair and clean shaved face and large, dark eyes. “You look like a poster boy for the closest Christian church. Why should I be scared of you? What are you even doing here? Wait, let me guess, car accident? Oh no, silly me!” He even slapped his palm against his forehead. “Debts. It must be debts, isn’t it? Did your bank records fell into the wrong hands? Poor you. Mommy and Daddy will-”

“It’s murder.”

Weston spluttered for a moment, his mind coming blank as shock turned his whole body numb. “M-murder?” he repeated, his voice as airy as the sigh of a mouse. That… that was impossible. It had to. James told him that this center was only for- His eyes narrowing, Weston glared anew at the annoying smirk the other guy sported. “Nicely played. Of course, it would’ve worked better if I didn’t know that this place is only for minor sentences.”

A flash of surprise passed in the guy’s eyes, and it was Weston’s turn to smirk. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be here. They changed me due to my good behavior. And now, here I am.” 

Their expressions switched faces, and Weston gulped as his smirk died down. What the hell? How could it be his luck? How was it possible? That guy’s entire demeanor was screaming bad, it was impossible people hadn’t noticed it. Weston had been here for a few hours, and it was already blaringly obvious.

“Or should I say, here we are.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Weston said, proud of himself at how composed his voice still sounded. That guy looked like a murderer, now there was no doubt about it, and his presence was making him uncomfortable. But not foolish. “Still not interested. But don’t be too upset, I won’t be interested in any other, either. There,” he patted his own thigh, not feeling daring enough to invade that guy’s personal space in any way, “pride’s all safe and sound.”

“I doubt you’ll receive any other offer after mine, pretty boy.”

“Now, that’s an amazing news if I ever heard one.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of yourself if I were you. You don’t have any influence, here, any power at all.” Turning his eyes away, back to glancing in the nothing in front of him and not give any importance whatsoever to that guy. “You’re just here, and pretty-”

“Will you stop calling me that?” The request escaped him, spitting past his lips as annoyance made his veins burn.

“I call you what you are. A pretty thing who fancies himself a drug dealer. A whore everyone wants a piece of.” Warmth shoot to his head, so fast it made him dizzy, and Weston jerked his elbow to the guy’s ribs, when hands grasped his arm and pulled him closer, another coming to his shoulder to pin him to the spot. Weston tried to squirm off, his face burning from the humiliation and his mouth twisted in anger, his teeth bared, ready to bite, but his brain screaming at him to be careful because that guy was a _murderer_ , and the difference of weight played in his disadvantage. From where he had managed to tuck his shoulder in the other’s chest, it was clear the guy was well-built, probably from spending his days at the prison’s gym or something. “Listen to me. I’m giving you one last chance to take the right decision, because you obviously have no idea what you’re up for, here. It’s not a problem; I have all my time. You, on the contrary, do not. Do you know what will happen tonight, hm? Answer me.”

“I don’t know in which twisted fantasy you’re living in, fucker,” Weston gritted, “but I’m not gonna be intimidated by a bunch of peacocks who haven’t spent more than two days in the real world.”

One of the guy’s hand cupped his chin, both his fingers and thumb uncomfortably pressing in the skin of his cheeks as he held him in place, his other arm wrapped around Weston’s chest and pinning his own arms to his side.

“You’ll get raped. That’s what’s going to happen.”

“No.”

“Yes. If we don’t have an agreement, if you’re not coming to my room tonight, then I’m not your friend. If I’m not your friend, then it means you’re all alone. Someone’s going to see your pretty, naked ass tonight in the showers, bend you over and fuck you raw. That’s not gonna go unnoticed. It’s not gonna stop at one. There’s gonna be a second, and then a third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and so on and on, well after you’ve stopped counting, until we’ve all used you to our satisfaction for the day.”

“For the day?” He scoffed. “Overconfident, much?”

“It’s your first time, there, isn’t there? No, no, don’t bother denying it, pretty, it’s written all over your face. You’re not going to like it much.” 

Shuddering, his stomach lurching as if he were truly about to be sick, Weston realized with horror that his eyes had begun to sting with unshed tears.

No. No, he didn’t want to cry. It wasn’t happening, it was not going to happen. He’d tell them to back off. This was a prison, yes, but it wasn’t a jungle. Weston believed there were some guys, out there, or in there, who weren’t creepy, disgusting animals and who could keep it in their pants. He just hadn’t met them yet.

“I’ll meet other friends.” Moreover, he still had that ace, hidden under his sleeve. He’ll use it if it comes to that, even if it’s on the first night. His eyes found another’s inmate just as he repeated the promise to himself, and Weston was about to mouth off a plea for help when the other’s darted left, to the murderer guy, widened and turned down, before he disappeared around a corner. Murderer guy chuckled darkly, the sound mocking more Weston’s hope than the inmate’s reaction. “I’ll scream for the guards.”

“The guards? The guards won’t lift a single finger to help you, pretty. No, the guards will wait for their turn, and will fuck your mouth just as eagerly as everyone else, don’t worry about them. That’s very thoughtful of you to,” Weston tried to kick him once again, “but they know where their best interests are.”

He paused, and Weston swore he could feel the other’s eyes on him, looking at his face and making the skin prickle. He had squeezed his eyes shut after the guy’s first sentence, not wanting to admit he felt stuck, pinned and without any choice but to accept this agreement or whatever the guy called it. The thought almost made him sob, but he swallowed it back and bravely opened his eyes.

“Here, see that one, over there.” The guy jerked his chin toward a spot and turned Weston’s face, making sure he was staring straight at that guard he was pointing at, as well as baring his neck. Weston couldn’t know for sure if the movement was deliberate, but he certainly felt every bit of the humiliation it brought. Now, every word the other guy said was accompanied by a puff of breath hitting the sensitive skin here, sending shivers down his spine. Weston hated it. “That’s Heverd. He’s one of mine. He’s supposed to watch the yard, today, make sure everyone’s being good and there’s no fight, or unwanted rapprochement. See, had it been anyone but me with you, he would have come and told him to fuck off. But it’s me, and so he stayed there. He’s not even looking our way. See. Then, over there, there’s Baivey. One of mine, too. The other one, however, is one of Dave’s. Not the company you’d want to keep. Now, if you come to my room tonight, I’ll go find Heverd and Baivey and all the others, and I’ll tell them to keep an eye on you, and everyone else’s hands off. Because you’d be mine, and I take care of what’s mine.”

Swallowing with difficulty, feeling his face heat with a rush of blood, Weston licked his lips twice, trying to bring back some wetness in his mouth. “And what… what would that entail, exactly?” he finally asked, each word as painful as if someone was pulling out his teeth.

“Ah, now we’re talking, pretty boy.”

Weston had to bite his tongue to keep himself from remarking once again on the nickname. He despised it, but suddenly it didn’t sound that bad anymore. Better let that guy call him whatever he wanted, even better, something he despised. This way, no other words would be tainted by any memory he would make there.

“It’d be pretty easy, I promise, think of it as an agreement to exchange services. I give you protection and you give me some relief.”

What was he doing? What was he doing?

James, he wanted James here, he wanted his boyfriend with him. Better yet, he wanted to wake up and realize that none of this had happened, or was happening to him.

Weston waited for a moment, but never woke up a second time.

And he was actually considering it. Worse, he was going to accept, to agree to it. He didn’t want to be used, raped by who knew how many men, and so he would let that one guy do it, however he wanted to fuck him, in exchange. As a thank you for not allowing other people to rape him, for the basic decency of any human being.

James would understand, he knew he would understand.

It’d allow him to keep his ace for later. The others would stop looking at him as if he was a piece of meat. And it was just sex. Just meaningless fucking, like a drunk one-night stand. At least he figured he wouldn’t have to be the one topping.

“Like a… like a whore. You’re talking of treating me like a whore.” The words were more for himself than the other guy, but Weston still saw him nod in confirmation, absolutely unashamed.

“Yes. A whore, a blow-up doll, a cumdump, whatever you prefer to call it, pretty boy. But just for me.”

How gracious of him, Weston thought, stifling another sob and hoping, praying his face wasn’t as red as he felt it looked. “Why me?” he whined.

“Really? You want to know?” Weston’s nod made him chuckle, though this one had more disbelief than darkness in it. “You look a lot like the girl I’m fucking, outside.” He tutted when Weston whined again. “Now, don’t complain. You’re the one who insisted to know, pretty boy. Or perhaps you’d prefer princess, hm?”

“Certainly not.”

“Really? Then perhaps doll? Baby girl?”

 _Pretty Weston_ , another voice whispered in his ear, followed by an old, wrinkled hand patting his cheek, _prettier than all his sisters combined_.

Weston shook his head, both to yank himself from the memory and trying to get away from the guy still pinning him. “Shut up,” he growled, making the guy’s laugh. “Is that all?”

“It is. Be my little personal cumdump for how ever much weeks you have to stay here, and I’ll protect you and make sure you’ll remain unharmed, and pretty for your boyfriend outside.”

“You really should rethink your love pet names.”

“This got nothing to do with love, pretty boy. You better no forget that.”

“I won’t.” The very idea was preposterous. He had James, waiting for him outside. And even if he hadn’t, he wasn’t desperate enough to fall in love with such a jerk. The other guy was just convenient, that was all.

“So, do you agree?”

“Six months.”

“What?”

“It’s six months. I’m here for the next six months.”

He saw the other’s guy eyes widen slightly, and suddenly there was a lump in throat and his own narrowed in answer. “That’s unexpected.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I only have four months left. They really locked you up six months for drugs?”

“Yea- How do you know I’m here because of drugs?” The guy eyed him for all answer, and Weston swallowed back his ego once again. “I suppose that’s going to be a problem?”

He watched as the other considered the question for a moment, still holding him in place, before a truly wicked look flashed in his eyes. “Depends on you, pretty boy. Keep me happy, and maybe I’ll ask some guys to keep watching over you after I’m gone.”

It wasn’t as if he had much choice at all. Gritting his teeth, Weston nodded. “Alright. I agree.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!  
> Warning: Smut + (Extremely) Dubious Consent
> 
> Hope you enjoy it
> 
> Ah, yes, and don't worry, "other guy" will not remain "other guy" for very long, so bear with me for this

It wasn’t until he was about to go to his locked door, intending to go to the guy’s room like he agreed, that Weston realized he had no idea how to do that, exactly. He didn’t know where the guy’s cell was, nor did he know the guy’s name, nor did he know how he was supposed to get out of his own locked cell.

His mouth slightly parted and his eyes wide, he stood still, facing the heavy door and not saying a word, making his roommate – a young twink whose name was Emerald and who looked like he was there for prostitution – snort at him from where he was, laying on the top bed. They had just come back from the showers, where Weston had felt as observed as he had during the lunch, but each time he stared right back to the other inmates’ eyes, they huffed and looked away.

At least it meant the stunt he and the guy pulled during dinner had worked.

Half hesitating between just shrugging and going to sleep or try and find a solution to honor his part of the agreement and show himself to that mysterious cell, Weston shifted his weight from left to right and nibbled at the inside of his cheek, his eyes still trained on the door. He couldn’t say he wanted to go, or that suddenly not being able to was ruining his day, but he didn’t want to be left to deal with everyone on his own either, if he failed to do his part as unknown guy had.

It pained Weston to admit it, maybe because he hoped he could, but he had.

But the door was locked, the guards had escorted all of them to their own cells and told them to stay quiet and sleep. Hell, not wandering in the corridors at night was part of the regulations they had made him sign that very morning. Let’s admit Weston managed to open the door, and then, considering his luck those past days, happened on one nightguard as he searched around. He doubted his explanation of, “No, but this guy I don’t know the name of had told me to come see him, because he wants to fuck me since I’ve agreed to be his personal whore, here. He has some of your colleagues wrapped around his little finger, by the way, so he told me it’d be fine, but then he’s a murderer, so I don’t know why I trusted him in the first place. Not that I trust him at all,” would endear any guard to him.

No, he said to the echo of the guy’s whisper after dinner, the reminder of, “My room. Tonight. Be there, pretty boy,” with an undertone of warning that made Weston shudder even now, a couple of hours after having heard the words against his ear.

He had tried, had as much will as one could have given the circumstances, but there were in a prison, and if the other guy wanted to fuck him tonight, he’d have to come here first.

With a definitive nod to himself and the beginning of a satisfied smirk pulling at his lips, Weston turned away and made a move toward his one-sized, bottom bunker bed.

The door unlocked at that precise moment, making both he and his roommate startle as they went still, as two deer caught in the headlights.

A guard’s head popped. “14.9.2 S?”

“That’s me,” Weston answered, disappointment filling his mouth with a bitter taste. He had a hunch of why that one was there, even if he wasn’t one of the two the guy had mentioned as “his”, this afternoon in the yard, but there were still some thoughts, some hope he could say, or dread that this would be for another matter entirely.

“Follow me.”

“Where?”

“You have somewhere to be, I recall.” Weston gulped, but the guard continued before he could answer, as if it didn’t matter. “So, shut up and follow me.”

He complied, throwing one last look at his roommate and taking note of his knowing look before the door closed between them with a dull sound.

The utter quietness of the corridors unnerved him, or perhaps it was the knowledge that each step he was taking brought him closer and closer to his new personal hell for the next four months.

Yet, he reminded himself it was better this way. One single man, he could handle. Dozens and dozens of them, he couldn’t. It would’ve broken him, Weston knew it. But to know it, to be aware of his assets and his flaws, didn’t make him weak. It made him smart, smart enough to survive, to adapt. Stronger than them, even, than all of them, and whatever would happen this night, or in the next hours – minutes, truly, he amended to himself with a soft snigger – would never change that.

When they finally stopped before one door, another closed door that looked like all the others, Weston’s expression was resolute, his chin higher than he imagined the situation called for, as he watched the guard open it and gesture for him to come inside.

“Thanks Milan,” the guy said when he stepped inside.

The cell indeed looked more like a room than a cell, with no trace of a roommate, a double bed with what looked like proper blanket and pillow on it against the wall, a table, a chair with a towel drying on it, and a television, as well as a shelf stocked with books. Weston pressed his lips together, refusing to be envious of the obviously better quarters. Instead, he willed himself to focus on the similarities between their two _cells_. The single window was still too high and small for his comfort, there was a sink with a half-full glass on the edge of it, a mirror and a toilet on the opposite wall and a few cupboards here and there, for the change of clothes, the pajamas, the spare towel, the toothbrush and toothpaste. The ugly pink windbreaker was hung on a coatrack, just like his and Emerald’s were, next to the entrance.

“Lemme know when you’re done, boss,” the so-called Milan said before closing the door, leaving the two of them alone.

“Just occurred to me,” Weston said before other guy could open his mouth, accompanying the rushed words with an awkward clearing of his throat, “you never said your name.”

“I never did. You don’t need to know my name.”

“What am I supposed to call you, then?” Weston blurted out, before he figured he didn’t need to call him anything. Other guy could stay other guy forever, as far as he was concerned, or fucker. They would both remain nameless, strangers to the other, until they would part and never see each other again, and Weston will never even think back on these upcoming months for the rest of his life. “I’m not calling you boss, or whatever,” he muttered, trying to sweep his slip under a taunt.

“Of course not. There’s nothing arousing when I think about work. Besides, you’re not my employee, I’m not paying a single coin for your services.” Other guy eyed him, the left corner of his mouth tugging up in a smug look Weston had already seen on him. “No, you’ll call me sir,” he announced, uncaring and waving away Weston’s immediate sputtering as he walked to his bed and sat down, “it’s only the polite thing to do, pretty boy.”

“I’m not calling you sir.”

“Of course, you are. Like you said, you have to call me something. Now, come here, pretty boy,” he looked down to the space between his newly spread leg, his tone calling for no protest, yet Weston didn’t move an inch, “and put your mouth to better use. I’ve had a tough day.”

A tough day? As if it were any worse than Weston’s.

“I won’t call you sir.” It seemed like such a fickle thing to pick a fight over, but Weston still did. He felt that he needed to put his foot down, even if – to be fair, compared to the other demand fucker guy had just made – it was insignificant. “I don’t give a shit if you tell me an alias or just some thought-upon names, but I won’t call you that. I won’t fuel in your crazy power trip.”

“Shut up,” he said, his eyes finally burning with something else than superiority mingled with contempt. It only lasted a brief second, however, before those were back, and the dark eyes turned cold once more. “I won’t repeat myself a third time. Come here and get on your knees, Weston.”

Or else what, the craziest part of Weston’s mind, the one responsible for his very presence here, in that prison, wanted to retort.

However, the words caught in his throat and he whipped his head back to the other guy, cold flooding his body. “How do you know my name?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

This, Weston agreed with. “Tell me yours, then. I refuse to have you know my name if I don’t know yours, it’s not fair-”

In one movement, Weston found himself being turned around, his back pressed against other guy’s chest, his arms pinned and a hand turning his head to stare up at him, in the very same position he had found himself a few hours ago, in the yard. Yet this, added to the knowledge that he had accepted to be here and that they were alone, made other guy even more intimidating than he already looked.

“No, it’s not fair. Pity. We have an agreement, pretty boy, I protect you, and I do anything I want to you, whenever I want it. You don’t get any say in it. Meaning I don’t want to hear anything from you, mainly. And when I tell you to get on your knees, you do it. When I tell you you’ll call me sir, you’ll do it. Even if I told you to bend over for Milan, or anyone else, you’d have to do it.”

Weston’s eyes widened in fright, and he felt his heart skip a beat before starting to pound loudly in his ears. “You said-”

“Yeah, I know. I’m struggling to remember why when you’re being difficult, however. What are you trying to do, hm, pretty boy? Are you trying to prove something? Are you trying to test me, like a kid? Or are you trying to say you changed your mind? Is that it?” Weston tried to shake his head, but it was still held in place. The other guy wasn’t hurting him, but he wasn’t letting him move. “Do you not want my end of the agreement anymore? Do you want to be gang raped in the next minutes? I could arrange this, don’t think for a second that I wouldn’t. As of right this moment, you’re not worth anything to me. Even more, if you were to try and get away from your end of it, when I did my part and you refused to do yours tonight, I wouldn’t have the tiniest bit of remorse in leaving you to the entire frenzy of sharks. I can make your next six months, at minima, a nightmare, crush you and reduce you as nothing more than two warm holes for anyone to fuck. Is that what you’ve decided you want from me?”

“I don’t. I mean, no it’s not.”

“Glad we’re back on the same page. Now, pretty boy,” he moved Weston’s head, relieving the strain of his throat and allowing him to speak more easily as well as staring into the eyes he had kept away from other guy’s face, “what do you say?”

Feeling his face warm, but thoroughly chilled by the other’s little speech, Weston willed the words out. “Nothing, s-sir.”

“Well, this as well, you’re not entirely wrong.” The other guy tilted his head on one side, huffing through his nose. “But I was thinking of a more… grateful answer.” Weston closed his eyes. “Look at me.”

He did. “Thank you, sir,” he whispered, gritting the words between his teeth and ignoring the flush of his face and the muddled state of his thoughts.

It meant nothing, he reminded himself. He could indulge in that guy’s power fantasy, keep him happy, it didn’t mean he liked it. He straightened back to a full standing position once other guy let go of him, his weak knees making his legs buck under his weight, but he didn’t fall. Didn’t even stumble.

Turning around, he glanced one last time at the other’s face, noting in the expectant and cautious look, before he slowly lowered himself to his knees. “Wait,” other guy said, cupping Weston’s elbows and pulling him to his feet with an ease Weston’d rather never think of again, “over there.”

Allowing himself this small thing, Weston rolled his eyes as they walked to the bed, other guy sitting down, body lightly bouncing as the mattress appeared to be soft, on top of it all, as he sank to his knees. He supposed a pillow would be too much to ask, and so didn’t. He hadn’t forgotten the _don’t make me repeat a third time_ , either, and really didn’t want to push his luck.

Other guy wanted his dick sucked, then he shall have it. It didn’t bother Weston as much as it could have. First of all, because by focusing on that part only, he could pretend it was his boyfriend towering over him, leaning on his hands back on the bed and a satisfied smirk on his lips. But, perhaps most importantly, because, contrary to what those Alpha slash macho men slash call me sir slash dudebros liked to think, Weston’s current position wasn’t the most vulnerable one, between the two of them. After all, he wasn’t the one about to get his dick pulled out in the open.

Thus, when he glanced back up, looking at other guy’s face through his eyelashes while nibbling softly on his bottom lip, Weston put as much vulnerability in his look as he mustered in his entire body, while privately soaring.

“You…” He waved his hand, hoping to convey the demand _Get your ass off the bed so I can actually do my thing and go back to my bed_ as politely as possible.

“No need. Just pull me out and fucking get on with it already.”

Weston pressed his lips together and looked back down, to other guy’s crotch right before his eyes. The jumpsuit he was wearing hid everything, so Weston opened the fly and unbuttoned. The boxer that laid underneath left less to the imagination already, and Weston felt his lips stretch into a small smile at the bulge straining slightly the elastic fabric. The most basic part of his brain sent a rush of pleasure through his body at the sight, and the knowledge that the man before him was aroused, with a twinge of smugness at how fucking quickly it happened, made his own cock twitch. He hadn’t even touched him.

He had no idea how old other guy was precisely, but the man looked past in his teen years.

“Don’t get any ideas,” other guy said, his voice having lost some of its smoothness. “Like I told you, you look a lot like the girl I fuck outside. Especially from that angle. Come on, get to work. I know you want to.”

Well, not as much anymore, that’s for sure, Weston wanted to say. He settled for a pointed look, instead, but other guy wasn’t looking at him. With a lot less slowness, he lowered the other’s boxer just enough to free his cock.

Damn.

Weston licked his lips as he swallowed loudly, finding his mouth suddenly both too wet and not enough. Think of James, he told himself, but… damn. That was hot, Weston was feeling hot, all of a sudden.

Fingers snapped before his eyes, startling him out of his hot-induced daze.

Right. Right. 

At least, he should be relieved that there was no need to worry beyond measure about forgetting himself. Other guy was more than content to break the mood Weston was desperately trying to lose himself in. He was starting to believe that the other had just no idea how to behave in normal situation, such as conversations without any threatening, or even sex.

“Sorry,” he muttered bitterly, nonetheless.

“Sorry who?”

Cocky fucker.

“Sir. I’m sorry sir.”

Not waiting, his own interest in sex having dwindled to next to nothing – the only upside being the nicely shaped, half-hard dick in front of his eyes – Weston brought his face closer, taking a deep breath through his nose, feeling nerves alighting his skin at the musky smell, more potent and dizzying here than anywhere else on a human body, before licking a long stripe.

Other guy let out a shaky breathe.

Smiling internally, Weston repeated the action, knowing the move was one his boyfriend’s favorite. Long licks on the shaft, and shorter, more teasing ones on the head were a sure way to make his boyfriend’s head spin and turn him to putty in Weston’s hands, and it appeared mister call me sir, despite all his cocky composure, wasn’t that different.

He held out longer, probably breathing slowly through his nose to hide his state, as if Weston didn’t have the proof of his arousal just before him, didn’t feel his dick hardening with every movement of his tongue. It was there, however, and useless to attempt to hide. The thighs that bracketed his body were tightening visibly under the fabric, and the little pants and aborted grunts that escaped the barricade of his lips were unambiguous.

It was maddening. The more he felt other guy’s holding onto his appearances, the more the knowledge spurred Weston to tear them apart and have them, have _him_ , crumble at his feet. Or, well, under his tongue. Spurred him to slightly increase the pressure of his licks, before only mouthing lightly at the most spit-slicken part, which never failed to make the other pant a little bit louder, his breaths hissing between his teeth. He was bringing his face closer with each move, now, letting the tip his nose brush along the sensitive skin there, just for half-a-second brief touches, and preparing himself to begin the final assault and stop the teasing.

“Good,” other guy said before he could start to open his mouth and swallow down, his hand coming to Weston’s chin and pushing his head slightly backward. Glancing up interrogatively, any disappointment that might have appeared vanishing immediately when Weston saw the red, freshly bitten lips and heaving chest with ragged breathing. Other guy’s eyes were dark and intent, their softer, brown color entirely disappeared from where Weston was standing. It made a small bubble of pride grow in his chest and threatened to bring too much of the feeling to his face.

Thus, instead, Weston opted to blink slowly and keep his smile under control. “Yes, sir?”

“Open up.” He tapped two of his fingers on Weston’s bottom lip.

“I was just about to start sucking you off,” Weston pointed out, huffing discreetly and privately wondering why other guy insisted on breaking the mood for nothing, all the time.

“I know. But I never said anything about you sucking me off. I did say something about fucking your mouth, though, so open up for me, pretty boy.” He slipped the tip of his fingers past Weston’s lips, who had parted slightly as the realization of what other guy wanted reached his half-muddled brain.

The situation and the control had been just snatched away from his hands, suddenly, and he was left without knowing how to get it back.

Weston gulped, glanced up nervously. “Won’t you prefer- I… I thought…”

“I know what you thought, and I’d like you to realize I’m not a virgin. Also, will I have to always repeat myself twice before you do what I ask you to?”

Right. “No, sir,” he answered, gulping one last time even though there wasn’t much anymore to swallow. Come on Weston, you can do it. Just imagine James. Closing his eyes, Weston parted his lips and focused on relaxing his jaw, and throat. His own dick had softened a little, still clad inside his bowers, result of his nerves at having the control over the situation escaping him overcoming the nice space he had built in his mind.

Other guy’s cold fingers came at the back of his neck, pulling him closer and guiding him to where he wanted him. The stark contrast of temperature gave him something to focus on that wasn’t the slight thrill that ran through his body when his tongue poked out to lick his lips and brushed at the same time other guy’s dick. Or the feel and weight and taste of that same dick slowly sliding up his tongue. Or the sound of other guy short, aborted, chocked out puffs that sounded, yes, almost relieved to Weston’s own ears.

The feeling of staying still, unmoving, was still weird. Weston’s instincts were screaming at him to start bobbing his head up and down, or start to use his tongue again, to bring some friction he knew had to be appreciated. His fingers twitched, and Weston distantly noticed his own hand had been moving closer and closer to his own groin. He snatched it away.

Other guy’s not-so-cold-anymore fingers still were there, keeping him in place – Weston ignored the arousal-induced shiver that ran up his back at the thought, attributing it to the sad lack of sex he had the past weeks – meaning pulling forward and forward at a slow but steady pace until Weston felt the head of the other’s cock reached the back of his mouth.

Letting out a shuddering breath through his nose at the unfamiliar feeling, Weston swallowed involuntarily.

“Don’t. Keep your jaw relaxed and don’t move,” other guy said, his thumb swiftly brushing along Weston’s jawbone as he spoke, his voice having lost some of its smoothness to a more rougher edge. If his eyes hadn’t already been screwed shut, Weston would have closed them now. Fucking hell, that voice. Other guy better stop, because Weston- “There, like that.” He pulled his hips away and slid back inside Weston’s mouth a couple of times, going quicker and harder each time, picking up a pace, and it took those couple of thrusts for Weston to realize that this was it. He was on his knees, in a cell’s hard floor, his head held into place – not that he had truly tested, but the fingers on his neck were a constant reminder that he wouldn’t pull away – and getting his mouth fucked.

The picture appearing beneath his eyelids sent a shot of warmth to his lower belly, adding on the pool of it brought there by the hoarse words murmured between two grunts. “Good,” other boy would say. “You look so good, taking me as easily as that. Truly made for this, are you? We’re gonna have lots of fun, you and I, I won’t regret it, I just know. Fucking mouth of yours.” And sure, those words were intersected by too much of “pretty boy” and “fucking princess” compared to his preference, but he wasn’t too much annoyed at them. They served to dampen his own arousal, his own cock he could feel straining in his boxer, aching to be touched.

Weston’s jaw was starting to ache, now, his eyes to sting with tears and his head to turn lightheaded. He had no idea how near the end they were, the other still thrusting as steadily as ever past his lips, now hitting the back of his throat with each push. He still tried to guess, to compare the pulse he sometimes felt when the shaft moved up and down his tongue or the amount of precome left on his tongue, though the latter told him other guy’s climax should have come a couple of thrusts ago, already. His mouth felt flooding with it, its bitter, salty taste tingling his tongue, making everything as slippery and smooth as it could be.

It was only when he heard other guy’s breath hitch loudly, felt his thumb wipe at the corner of his mouth, where some spit and precome had started to come down and noticed the next thrust stilling for a brief moment in the middle of the movement that he opened his eyes and lifted them, gazing expectantly at him.

“Fucking hell.”

Other guy was already staring at him, his eyes hooded and his lips parted, panting loudly, his cheeks flushed from pleasure.

“Stay still, pretty boy,” he added before pulling his cock out of Weston’s mouth for good, making him frown. The fingers still cupping the back of Weston’s neck, keeping him very close still, he wrapped his other hand around himself, stroking up and down, his thumb flicking the top of the head, with an urgency that threatened to suck Weston in. His mouth still open, Weston’s eyes zeroed on the movement, following it intently, almost avidly. “Stay right there for me,” other boy repeated, before he let out a low groan and his hand quickened and he was coming.

Warm droplets hit Weston’s face, and he snapped his mouth shut with the last bit of reason that remained to him, closed his eyes and tried to turn his face away, his nose scrunching at the unpleasant sensation.

While other guy was still panting, surely enjoying the slow coming down from his high, Weston wiped at his burning eyes, sputtering. “What was that?”

Other guy tutted and snatched his hand, keeping it away from his face. “Don’t wipe away your reward like that. Has no one taken any time to teach you some manners, pretty boy?”

“I could ask you the same question.”

“I’ve known more grateful whores.”

“I’m not a whore.” He scowled up at other guy, wanting to punch the smirk off his handsome face, but his wrist was still pinned in the air, in a position that made it impossible for him to move. On top of it all, he could feel other guy’s quickly cooling come on his cheeks, chin and probably hair, too.

“You certainly look like one, right now, though. Perhaps you shouldn’t wash yourself and show up like that tomorrow morning, for breakfast. That’d be quite a sight, and give a pretty clear message to all of them, don’t you think?”

“I’d rather die,” Weston said, once it appeared other guy was actually waiting for an answer.

“Pity.” Other guy snorted. “I knew you loved being on my lap, though, so I can’t blame you entirely.”

His cheeks warmed up at the memory of the dinner. Other guy had beckoned him over and had made him sit on his lap for the duration of the meal. It had been one of Weston’s most embarrassing moment in his life, and he persisted in thinking it had been useless. That it hadn’t been the reason the other inmates hadn’t acted on their whispered promises of the afternoon to fuck him in the showers.

He threw him a dubious look for good measure.

Other guy stood up and took care of himself, wiping at his softening cock with some tissues and putting his boxers and trousers in place, before he turned around and glanced at Weston interrogatively.

“Well, what are you waiting for? You’re not spending the night here.”

Gaping, Weston threw a pointed look down to his own crotch. The sticky feeling on his face and biting words exchanged had lessened his own urges for some kind of relief, but his cock was still hard, demanding most of his blood and attention.

“Oh,” other guy said, following his gaze. He raised a brow. “Really, huh? Anyway, I don’t see how that concerns me.”

Weston fought the urge to cover himself up, forgetting for a moment he was still fully dressed, and scrambled to his feet, barely missing hitting his forehead to the ground when the lack of blood in his brain made him lose his balance.

“Seriously? I let you fuck my mouth and come over my face and you don’t even want to give me a hand?”

“It’s not my fault you get hard from being used, pretty boy. That’s your problem, so that’s on you.” Other boy crossed the distance between them, almost until their bodies touched. “Secondly, you’re not _letting me_ do anything,” he continued before Weston could protest, “this is your end of the deal. Mine is only to protect you, outside of that room. Nothing else, nothing more.” He waited until Weston lowered his gaze, his fists tightening but remaining along his body. At least, the bitter, lingering taste in his mouth had doused any remnant of arousal. “Now, go knock to the door. Milan’ll walk you back.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!  
> Enjoy!

“It’s Edmund. Edmund Berry-Montague.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, yes. But Weston, listen to me.” His boyfriend’s voice turned frantic, and Weston cradled the receiver closer to his ear, trying to drown out the loud conversations he could catch glimpses of, from the cabins on both his sides. “You need to be on his good side, okay?” James asked, and Weston tried to swallow the growing lump in his throat. “He’s… he’s very important.”

“You know him?”

His boyfriend had some contacts, being himself a rising name in the less-than-legal under crowds of town, and Weston had used the very first call he had to ask him whether any of his acquaintances knew of a mysterious man, a murderer, who’d only have four months left and was transferred in Weston’s prison for good behavior.

He should have known that screamed good relations with the mafia.

“James,” Weston said before his boyfriend could answer, as another more urgent point dawned on him, “did you work with him?”

“No, I’ve never met him.” He sighed in relief. “But my boss knows him, and if he knows the Duke, you know it means he must know Batters and the Kid too, Weston.” Gulping, Weston found himself nodding numbly, despite knowing his boyfriend couldn’t see him. Those three were big names, especially the last one, despite what the name would make someone think when they’d first hear it. In fact, the Kid was the big boss, ruling over quite a large underground empire. “Did he talk to you?” his boyfriend asked, then, excitement evident in his voice.

A cold feeling lurched Weston’s stomach. “No,” he croaked. “He didn’t. I never talked to him, never met his gaze.”

“Why did you want to know who he was, then?”

“I’ve… I’ve just noticed him, at self. It’s hard not to. He seems important, respected here. I thought you might have some info about him. I was just curious.” And mostly bothered about other guy knowing his name and him not.

Though that wasn’t the case anymore. Edmund. It suited him, Weston thought, and that wasn’t a compliment. Who the hell was still called like that, nowadays?

“I see.” His boyfriend chuckled, the sound, even spoiled by the static of that old-fashioned phone, bringing a soft smile on Weston’s lips and making his eyes sting with yearning. How he wished he could be with his boyfriend, right now. And to think that he had only been there for a couple of days.

“I miss you, Jimmy.”

There was a long pause and, for a second, Weston thought the communication had cut, until his boyfriend murmured back, with a sad voice, “I miss you too.”

Letting the words surround him with their warmth, Weston closed his eyes, basking in the middle of them for a few seconds more. They made the cold, the sadness and the guilt go away, if only for an instant.

A knock at the glass behind him made him startle, signaling him that he should hang up within the next minute, before the conversation would cut automatically. Immediately, the urge to come clean to his boyfriend, to confess everything that had happened, no everything he had done, those past days, came back in full force. Weston almost choked on his own breath.

But he couldn’t do it. No matter how much he repeated to himself that James would understand, that none of that meant anything, he knew it would still hurt his boyfriend a lot, that he couldn’t have protected Weston from this.

Thus, he rushed out his goodbye, promising to call as soon as he could, and clinging on the receiver as if it were James’ hand. “I have to go. I love you.”

Another pause, before James finally said the words back, the promise half cut by the communication’s forced end, the five minutes being spent.

Weston forcefully hung up the receiver back to its place, his jaw clenched, and his mouth twisted in a snarl. He knew his boyfriend was still feeling guilty about everything, but the latter couldn’t have picked a worse time.

He had _needed_ to hear those words back. Needed to feel the love, the love he missed every second of every day, but especially during those nights.

After that first night in other guy’s – no, Edmund – room and the worst walk of shame in his life, with drying come on his skin and Milan’s mocking glances, his life had morphed into what Weston assumed was to be his new routine for the following four months. As soon as he had stepped back into his cell, he had run to the sink, blatantly ignoring any possible reaction from Emerald until he had scrubbed his face – and hair – clean. He had then gone to bed without a world and mulled over the still-stinging humiliation of the past hour until, soon, it had been morning.

The first day had been hell, mostly because they had needed to be sure that every other inmate knew Weston was off limit and wouldn’t get any idea. It meant that, in addition of spending all his meals perched on Edmund’s lap and pretending like he was happy to be there – lest another would think to come up with a better offer – Weston had to follow him around for his activities of the day. Activities which consisted mostly, he had guessed it the first time he’d seen the guy, in working out in the prison’s gym.

Of fucking course.

He and his mean-faced buddies spent the _entire afternoon_ there.

And, on top of it all, despite lifting weights for hours, running and punching a punching bag, Edmund had still sent Milan to him, that evening, and gestured for him to go back to his past night’s position.

“Don’t pout, pretty boy,” he had said, thumb brushing along Weston’s bottom lip when he had wrinkled his nose at the vivid memory of how last night had ended. “Tonight, I want to finish in your mouth.”

“Condom?”

Edmund, who at that time Weston had referred as fucker _wholeheartedly so_ , had lifted an eyebrow. “I prefer without.”

Weston had returned the expression, except he had raised both his eyebrows, because he had never been able to move only one and because oh hell no. And, with a deadpanned expression and blaring eyes, he had retorted, “Well, I prefer with.”

In the end, they had done without, as there hadn’t been any to begin with, and Weston had spat Edmund’s come in the sink as soon as it had ended, to the other guy’s displeasure.

“You said you wanted to finish in my mouth, sir,” Weston had pointed out, keeping his cheeky grin in check as much as it was possible, and delighting in Edmund’s scowl, “you said nothing of what was supposed to happen after that.”

Thus, when Edmund had yanked Weston in his room the following morning and pushed him to his knees, choosing to stay standing this time, the other had deliberately specified he wanted him to swallow, glower still etched on his face. Glower that had transformed into a sneer when Weston had done so, even for the small part that had dribbled past his lips, that Edmund’s fingers had scooped back in his mouth.

The rest of the day had been better in the sense that Weston hadn’t been forced to follow Edmund around like a needy puppy, similar in the way that he had spent it as bored as the previous one, and worst because the taste of the other’s orgasm hadn’t come away for the day, no matter how many time he had brushed his teeth.

After the showers, when evening came, Edmund had once more fucked his mouth, making him swallow this time as well before sending him off without a word. Weston had followed Milan’s back to his cell once more, thankfully without the sniggers this time, and had buried himself under the too-thin cover of his bed.

Then, his face warmer than he had ever remembered it to be and praying his roommate was deep asleep, he had sneaked a hand under his pajamas pants and had wrapped it around his throbbing length, stroking until he sobbed in the crook of his palm as the sweet release washed his mind clean of all his worries and guilt.

He had spent his morning locked in his cell, gazing at the bottom of the top bed from his own bed, attempting to keep his mind blissfully blank, and had rushed to the phones as soon as the room had opened, at two in the afternoon, to call James and have his answer.

Edmund, Weston thought once again as he stared at the other guy from afar. Now, finally, their situations seemed back to a more equivalent state. They both knew each other’s names, though Weston had no intention of letting the other be aware of that fact.

It wasn’t as if Edmund ever used his, except for that one time, that first night, anyway. No, it was pretty boy, or you, or nothing at all. For, besides a short announcement of what he wanted Weston to do and the occasional demeaning comment when he was close, Edmund stayed tight-lipped, quiet and cold and unflinching.

This suited Weston perfectly well, by the way. The agreement, and the sex that came with it, was cold, impersonal, and only arousing to Weston’s mind because of its sex-deprivation and James’ physical distance. He didn’t need it to change. He didn’t want it to change.

It was just that… Not that Weston had ever thought it’d be different but…

He was lonely.

That was the reason why he was still annoyed with his boyfriend, for taking so long to say the words back they had been cut.

Only three days had passed since he arrived there, but Weston was already feeling lonely. There was no one to talk to, no friendly face. Everyone either glanced at him with disappointment, because they weren’t the ones he was spreading his legs for every night, or blatant disinterest. Even the disappointment was only the front before the disinterest. All of those men knew each other from the outside, or from previous incarcerations, and Weston was new, there, new and lonely.

But too pretty to befriend.

That face had been the curse of his existence, ever since he had been a child, Weston swore.

The only closeness he had at all was with Edmund, since Weston had become well-acquainted with his dick for the past days, but it was clear the other guy didn’t see him as anything more than a warm mouth to fuck. Or-

“It’s very rude to stare, pretty boy,” a voice whispered darkly in his ear, snapping Weston out of his thoughts.

“I wasn’t staring. And even less at you,” he half-lied, throwing an annoyed look at Edmund, who was leaning back against the wall, his arms crossed. He had unbuttoned the top of his uniform, baring the sweaty skin there and letting the world glimpse the beginning of chest hair. Weston absentmindedly followed the arch of his throat down to the patch of skin, licking his suddenly dry lips.

“Right. You’re certainly not.”

He was horny. Horny and untouched, despite giving head and then having had his mouth fucked four times in the past three days. His mind was going crazy, that was all. Weston glanced back up. “I’m not. I was just… passing by. I wanted to know if you wanted me to come tonight.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

Shrugging, Weston looked around, checking no one was eavesdropping – you couldn’t imagine how quickly a bunch of bored criminals could turn into avid gossipers until you spent one day in prison – and using it to regain his composure. He still found the other guy more intimidating than he’d have expected, at first. A murderer, and now acquainted with his boyfriend’s boss. That was enough to send chills up anybody’s smile, wasn’t it? “Figured you’d be too tired.”

“I’ll show you tired, pretty boy. Tonight. Be prepared.” He slapped Weston’s ass before turning around and walking away, back to the gym, leaving Weston gaping at his retreating back, the smack and his following gasp echoing in his head.

A strange, and, mostly, unexpected, thrill of impatience didn’t leave his veins for the rest of the day, increasing at the prospect of the alone-time Weston had decided he would indulge himself in, back into his cell. He didn’t know whether Edmund noticed it, but hoped the other man wouldn’t let it get to his head if by chance he did.

“Bend over there,” Edmund said when Milan closed the door behind Weston. He threw a last, longing glance at the comfortable looking mattress and braced his hands on the wall, bending slightly as he tried to find a comfortable position.

Easier said than done, standing on his own two feet. Weston had never fucked standing up and, not that he had really expected laying back on Edmund’s bed would be an option, he’d still hoped he’d get to rest his hands and knees on something soft. Not on fucking nothing, Weston thought with a small huff.

Not small enough to go unnoticed, apparently. “Something’s bothering you, pretty boy?” Edmund clicked his tongue and, suddenly, there was a presence hovering behind Weston, making the hair at the back of his neck prickling. It was always a special kind of thrilling, he found, to let someone come near you when you were standing in a vulnerable position, and Weston loved it. Relished in it. Always had, to be honest. “Spread your legs a little more,” he said, his foot nudging at Weston’s ankles until they stood as far as Edmund wanted them, leaving Weston’s weight to rest on his hands. “There. I trust you already took care of the prep?”

“Um… no.”

He felt Edmund’s fingers still on his hips as the other guy seemingly needed a second to absorb that information which… really? “What did you say?”

“No sir?” Weston would have rolled his eyes. “When would I even have the time and the opportunity to?”

“In the showers.”

“In the showers? The communal showers? Those showers?”

“Well, somewhen between then. That’s your problem.”

“It’s not. You want to fuck me, that’s part of the conditions. It’s implied in the whole fucking process.”

Edmund’s sigh hit the back of Weston’s neck. “You’ll make it up to me.”

“How so?” Weston scoffed, muttering his words under his breath. “You’re going to make me come by myself? Already doing that, sir.” He let his head hung forward. “I’ll do it, if you don’t want to-”

“It’s fine,” Edmund answered curtly. “Just pull down your pants.”

For all his old-man grumblings and complaints, Edmund prepared him swiftly and efficiently. Quickly, he didn’t drag the moment for a second longer once Weston murmured that he was fine, never allowing him to unduly immerse himself in the burning pleasure one, then two, then three fingers moving inside him brought. Since Edmund wasn’t gaining any pleasure from it, the quicker it would be over and done with, the happier he would be.

Still, it felt better than doing it himself would have. The other’s fingers were thicker, and reached deeper, with always that little spark of uncertainty on whether he would slid them back in forcefully, making Weston’s hips snap forward to the _empty air_ – oh god that was already frustrating and they hadn’t even begun the proper fucking part, or he would twist them or crook them in a certain way that made his toes curl.

Suddenly though, the fingers were gone, and Weston barely held back a soft sound. He caught the sound of the bottle of lube – that had appeared out of nowhere, meaning Edmund did have access to some kind of privilege in the center, but curiously unaccompanied of any condoms – opening again and clothes fumbling. Weston glanced up just in time to see his fingers twitch from where they were spread against the wall, wishing he could be the one giving those last few strokes to Edmund’s cock – or better yet, his own, though he knew this would come surely later. Him getting his hands on the other’s dick, however, was way less likely to happen.

It was a ridiculously hot dick, and Weston was only human. Human and horny.

So, so horny.

He almost choked on his own spit when Edmund dragged his hot – but literally so, this time, the temperature a small shock compared to the over smooth and cool texture of a condom – cock along the cleft of his ass, spreading the lube, and the head caught on the edge of his willing hole. Then, very soon after, as if the slight snag between their two bodies had marked the beginning for the other guy as well, Edmund’s cock pressed forward, breaching past the last resistance as slowly and steadily as he always started.

Letting out a deep breath, Weston’s brows furrowed as he focused on the pleasant side of the burning hot drag, on his aching dick which only relief was the nonexistent wind in the room and which tip was already releasing precome, or the way Edmund’s hand tightened on his left hip, his little finger actually pressing into his bare skin and its nail forming a redder crescent on the taunt skin of his hipbone.

Edmund stilled for a moment, probably not to allow Weston time to adjust properly to the feeling of fullness and coiling hotness in his belly though he used the opportunity as such, before he dragged himself out only to slide back even deeper.

Gasping, his eyelids turning heavy as his sight grew unfocused, Weston had only enough time to swallow before the other began thrusting, his hips smacking on his cheeks every time before he pulled away.

He could feel the rough cloth of the other’s uniform pants brushing against the very top of his legs, where Weston’s pajamas one had been pulled down completely to allow his legs to spread more easily, with every thrust. Could feel his balls lightly slap against the bottom of his ass. The burning cock dragging along his inner walls, lightening up every nerve gathered there and making his legs tremble slightly. Feel Edmund’s hands tightening against his hips, his leg coming between his own, brushing along his inner thigh.

His own aching cock. Weston squeezed his eyes shut to not look at it, untouched and moving in time with the other’s short, fast-paced movements. It was torture. To feel at the same time so much pleasure and so much frustration. Absolute torture.

He keened, the sound making his face flare up as it was torn from his gut, and Edmund’s airy chuckle came to his ears.

“You like that, don’t you pretty boy?” the other guy said, his voice already hoarse in a way that told Weston it was probably the end. His body shivered under the rush of mixed feelings the knowledge gave him. “Shh, don’t need to answer, I can hear you well enough.”

So can I, Weston would have said back, if he had been in any capacity to speak at the moment. He wished he would have. Edmund’s low grunts had resonated in the room from the first time Weston had experimentally clenched around his cock, and had barely stopped since. Meanwhile, good sex had the effect of turning him mostly speechless, which unfortunately for him, wasn’t the other’s case. No, the closer he was, the more he spoke.

Thereby was Weston’s life. He couldn’t find it in himself to complain, for the moment. Mostly.

“I know your kind, could see it the first time I laid eyes on you. Knew your ass’d just fit me like you’d were born for my cock. A pretty, little thing like you that just loves to be fucked.” He punctuated that last word with a particularly powerful thrust, and Weston moaned, though it sounded also like a whine, in protest or in agreement with the words and the tone, or maybe the reverse, Weston couldn’t remember. “Just listen to you,” Edmund chuckled airily, as if he himself couldn’t believe what he was hearing, puffs of air hitting Weston’s neck and making him shiver and squirm. He didn’t want to _listen_ to himself. He wanted to be touched. “You moan like a girl.” Weston’s nose scrunched at that, his shoulders hunching as he felt his face warm and his cock throb. From the feeling of Edmund’s dick inside him. Edmund’s fingers moved from his hip to his hair, pulling his head up and making his back arch. “Pretty boy who moans and whines like a girl. Fitting, isn’t it?” he murmured against Weston’s ears as the latter immediately screwed his eyes shut and pressed his lips together, shaking his head from left to right as much as he was able to. “It is. What do you want, pretty boy, what are you moaning for? Do you want to come? Is that it?” Weston’s head stopped shaking and instead he nodded eagerly, nearly giving himself whiplash, his lips parted wide and panting loudly. “I see. It must start to hurt, too.” Weston kept nodding, a bubble of hope soaring in his chest, warmth pooling in his groin. “So, since you want it so bad, what should you say?”

It took a moment for Weston to realize he was expected to answer, the realization helped when Edmund slowed down his thrusts until he wasn’t moving anymore, his cock unmoving and hard inside him. He then had to attempt to get everything to work a couple of times before he gritted a plea between his lips.

“Please who, pretty boy?”

“Please sir,” he breathed out the words, cheeks burning. His ass minutely pressed back against Edmund’s hips, his hips making little aborted grinding moves backward, as if to entice the other to start moving again.

Relief rushed through Weston’s body when Edmund resumed his movements, though much too slowly for his taste. It was short lived, though, and crashed when the latter started murmuring to his ear again, leaving his mind in disarray at the same time.

“You want some attention for your dick, some relief, hm. But pretty things like you don’t need their dicks to be stroked to come, they just do from being fucked, like girls.” Weston opened his mouth, a mix between another moan at the way Edmund’s hips had found back their first rhythm, then, and the way the other’s breath turned ragged, hitting the shell of his ear, and a sob, his cock aching, his groin throbbing with the wave of frustration and the growing pleasure coming from his insides. “But. It’s not even about that. We’re not here for you. You just need to take what I – fuck – what I fucking give you. My cock, my come, whatever I decide. And you just take it and be grateful for it. Like the good little cumdump you are that- oh fuck, pretty boy, do that again.”

Weston was pulled back against Edmund’s chest when he didn’t react as fast as the other wanted, and he clenched down around Edmund’s cock again before he felt the other’s breath hitch in the tale-tell sign Weston was already recognizing. Soon after, Edmund’s hips stilled for a few seconds and Weston felt the cock inside of him throb and an unknown-yet warmth spread against his inner walls.

When the other gave a few last thrusts, chasing the last of his orgasm, a new, more obvious squelching sound reached Weston’s ears, making his belly squirm and a hotness flood to his still achingly hard cock.

Edmund pulled out once his breathing had slowed down, leaving Weston aching, hot, frustrated and hornier than he did before, feeling a cooling liquid drip down his crack.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another chapter, a smutty one, for plot is coming dear readers!  
> Enjoy!

Rushing to his bed as soon as it was in sight, Weston yanked the thin cover over his head and wiggled out of his pajamas pants, a soft, muffled whine bubbling out of his throat at the shadowed sight of his erection. The arousal had dwindled slightly during the trip back to his cell, though not enough to make walking comfortable. Knowing his ass was still filled with a mix of lube and come had made the squelching sounds with each step hard to ignore, and the situation overall worse.

The embarrassing noises had drowned everything, resonating in Weston’s head and in the empty corridors with each steps and in between. He hoped it had mostly been in his head and not at all in the corridors, for Milan had still walked behind him.

Weston could still feel the mixture leak out, even as he laid on his side, the sensation still strange and doing weird things to his gut, as well as his dick.

Closing his eyes, his head resting on his arm, Weston let out a shaky breath as his fingers brushed along the side of his cock. Just a few minutes ago, it had felt like the light touch would have been enough to send him over the edge, and Weston was glad it had only been a thought of his horny, frustrated and fucked-out mind, rather than an actual possibility.

He shuddered.

Deciding to forego the featherweight pattern his finger was currently drawing, from his abdomen down to his groin and cock, sending shivers erupt along his body, he wrapped his hand around himself and focused on picturing his boyfriend.

It was easy. James’ hand was rather similar to his own, which had been a comfort and a great help at the very beginning of their relationship. His lubed butt and sore hole felt as if James had just finished fucking him, making love to him, and now it was his turn. His boyfriend wouldn’t send him away, no, he would press himself against Weston’s naked back and jerk him off rough and fast, just like he liked.

As he slightly tightened his fingers around his length, Weston thought he didn’t need sweet words whispered to his ear, after all. James had always been reluctant to do so, embarrassed and had never known what to say, even after he had climaxed, and it was only Weston writhing and bucking and panting.

Just his boyfriend’s soft, small hand, that’s all Weston needed right now.

A kind touch, and sweet words he had wanted, not harsh ones spoken only to push him down and make the other feel better, stronger than him, Weston thought bitterly, his hand stroking almost furiously up and down, and up and down. Turning his head, he pressed his mouth against the bare skin of his other arm, muffling the louder, heavier pants he was letting out.

The small movement enticed the rest of his body to follow the turn, and soon he was laying on his stomach, his hand tucked near his belly, and his cock against the thin mattress, scrambling to fold his legs under him, lifting his ass slightly up.

There was no one there, no one but Emerald snoring softly in the higher bed, but Weston’s mind conjured a presence, a shadowed, comforting figure he called his boyfriend. Wriggling his hand away, he let it wander to his entrance, stroking the shivering skin along the way as the rough fabric of the bed sheet brushing against his lower back and butt cheeks brought him back an hour ago, when another rough cotton’s trousers had been the ones rubbing against his bare skin. His fingers finally reaching their spot, Weston stroked them roughly over his entrance, feeling the dried mix of lube and come still there.

His hips bucked against the mattress with a punishing force and his mouth twisted in a snarl, revealing his gritted teeth. Damn that fucking fucker to the deepest pits of hell, Weston didn’t want to think about him.

It was already enough trouble that he had turned out incapable of picturing his boyfriend when other guy was fucking him, for the obvious reason that his boyfriend would never do, say, fuck or treat him like that fucker did. The two men were incomparable, and Weston couldn’t blend them up. And thus, he had decided to protect the memory of his boyfriend, to keep him away from their encounters, that all that was for the best.

Not now, though. Now, he wanted to lose himself in the caring way he remembered his boyfriend looking at him, pictured that towering presence behind him stroking his hands along his sides, the gesture comforting and soothing as Weston melted under the touch.

Beautiful, the boyfriend would call him, before bending over him, pressing his toned chest to his back and echoing Weston’s chuckle at the way the hair there would tickle his skin. Then, his fingers would rub more firmly at his hole, moaning lowly at the memory of fucking him just before, sending a shock of electricity up Weston’s back and making his belly squirm with oversensitivity as well as arousal. But the fingers would then abruptly stop their delicious caress and leave.

Weston whined, his cock twitching and his heart skipping a beat, but the boyfriend would remind him that everything was too dry, now, and that it wouldn’t feel as good as it should. “Let’s try something new, hm? What do you think, beautiful?”

With a slight uncertain frown, Weston himself slowed down the quick thrusts he was making against the mattress, even though he had been feeling his orgasm finally build up, lifting himself up to his knees. His hand followed the one in his imagination and wrapped around his cock, the familiar shot of pleasure calming his nerves.

Painfully slowly, his hand started moving, easing the slide by gathering his own precome, one finger brushing teasingly along his perineum, but nothing else. It was as if he was moving in molasse, the touch unhurriedly building warmth up and Weston’s lids fluttered close and he allowed himself to go along the flow, a curious interest prickling at the back of his mind.

The shadowed figure’s whispers hit the sweet spot he had just behind his ear, the skin bared and easily accessible from Weston’s position. “Remember how good it felt, when I was inside you,” he said before mouthing just there and Weston’s toes curled, his breath caught in his throat and his face twisted in pleasure as he kept talking, telling him all about what he’d do to-

Weston’s body flinched, flinging himself away from the touch and the words as his eyes flew open, making both disappear.

No, he thought as his hand quickened the pace, there was no talking. Nobody was talking, or telling anything. James didn’t like talking, and Weston didn’t like listening. He kept on the rough, fast strokes until his balls tightened, his muscles tensed and he spilled in his hand, finding himself finally relieved and unexpectedly furious.

He plainly scowled at Edmund first thing the next morning, before plopping down on the offered thigh.

“Is your ass hurting this much, pretty boy?” he said. All around them, men guffawed and snorted, as if it were the single funniest thing they had ever heard. Losers, Weston silently threw at them. Though of course, the attention enabled Edmund to pile on. “I get why you’d blame me for it, but you’ll have to get used to it.”

The scowl deepened, though it had nothing to do with his ass, thank you very much, his forehead creasing and his jaw clenched in a way that threatened to give him a headache.

Because to admit the reason of his restlessness? Never, and even less to him.

Weston fidgeted when he felt Edmund’s face nearing close before he whispered to “Stop pouting, pretty boy, and put on a show, will you? They’re looking,” his voice holding on a hint of warning.

So Weston smoothed down his features and tried to lose the scowl as he took a big bite of his almost burnt toast and angrily munched on it as he listened to Edmund’s comments on how virgin tight his ass had been, the previous night, and how he had writhed and begged and taken the pounding and asked for more nonetheless.

He finally lowered his eyes on his lap, feeling his ears burn at his own memory of what had happened just after, not paying attention to the other’s sniggers and the rest of the conversation once the main subject changed. Next to his shoulder, he could feel Edmund was on edge as well, his jaw set and his mouth downturned, the thigh Weston was sitting on rock hard.

It only riled him more.

It was stomping that he arrived at Edmund’s room that evening, after spending the entire day sulking – yes, he could admit he was sulking. It was maybe childish, but Weston couldn’t have less a fuck about it, or whatever – in his bed and his meals sulking on the other’s lap.

“Pleasure to see your delighted face, princess,” Edmund spat at him after having thrown one single glance his way, making Weston flinch. Tonight, however, he was determined to let nothing get at him. In all the senses of the term. So he looked away just as much, nostrils flaring and fists tightened. “Bend over there, like yesterday.”

He complied without a word, making a move to pull down his pants while internally rambling about how unattractive the other’s voice sounded, when all his blood wasn’t in his dick. Weston didn’t even like chest hair or muscles that much, way more preferred safety.

“No,” Edmund said, taking a hold of his wrists and putting them on the wall, “not this tonight.”

“Wh-”

“Shut up, or I’ll change my mind and fuck you anyway.”

Weston wondered why he wasn’t doing just that, refusing to feel any kind of distress at a change of plan. He had thought – because the other had just seemed to particularly enjoy it, and again Weston wasn’t inventing anything, it had been more than clear from how he had talked about it, as he was fucking him, and when all his buddies weren’t there yet – that they would fuck again tonight. All the nights.

Again, Edmund had truly sounded like it had been his plan.

That was why Weston had mentally… readied himself for this… plight. Yes. The other thrived on feeling powerful, and what felt more powerful than fucking someone who’d let you do _anything_ to them?

Was it because of the fingering?

Not that Weston was disappointed – fucking or not fucking, there was still going to be some sort of sex involved, considering his position – and it wasn’t as if he would have gotten to come, or to be touched at all. Or it wasn’t like he had actually enjoyed having to clean the other’s come out of his ass in his own cell, with cold water and a towel as his only disposal, once it had dried and stuck on the skin, either.

“There.” Weston felt the warmth of one hand resting on his hip before his head was pushed down until he was facing the ground and not the wall. He rolled his eyes to himself, Edmund’s hand patting his hair once, in an unspoken request not to move. “I want it over quick, so just move back against me.”

He frowned. “How am I supposed to do that?” he genuinely asked, before remembering the “Sir?” He had trouble getting used to that.

“Really? You kept doing it yesterday. Just grind your ass back against me. There’s nothing complicated about it, pretty boy.”

Weston was one second away from asking Edmund to just fuck him instead, before nerves got the better of him and he remembered which situation exactly he was in. Suffice to say, even if the other would consider agreeing to the proposition, he would turn it down on the only pretext Weston was the one who came up with it.

Damn him, really, Weston thought for the umpteenth time that day, before he experimentally pushed back against Edmund’s clothed groin. He wasn’t a stranger to grinding, or even being the one grinding down on someone’s crotch, but this was still new. Usually, the crotch to grind onto would be beneath him, and a part of him was sure he was finding himself in that strange position, moving his ass while the other stayed completely still, only because Edmund couldn’t fathom letting him on top for whatever reason it could be.

Even when Weston would be the one behaving like a stripper or a professional tease.

Except there, after moving for a few minutes, he had no idea if it was even working. Behind him, Edmund was still breathing steadily, his hands a weight resting on his hips, maybe half-hard already, maybe fully or maybe not at all, Weston had no idea. The situation was more embarrassing and frustrating than anything, because he couldn’t feel anything with all those clothes.

At long last, he heard Edmund sigh deeply, though it sounded more annoyed to Weston than encouraging or anything. His hands gripped his hips and he pressed his own forward, muttering something that sounded a lot like, “Have to do all the fucking work.”

Finally…

The muscles of Weston’s shoulders relaxed and his lips tugged in a small smile as his body was jerked forward with each push and pull given to his hips. “Not. That. Arduous,” Edmund almost growled each word, gritting them and punctuating them by another squeeze of his hands. “’You’ve already forgotten what happened yesterday, pretty boy? How badly you wanted to come. How good I felt inside you. You remember?”

“Yes,” Weston hissed, his breath hitching and his face burning as his own cock twitched as the sensations came back to the forefront of his mind. He hadn’t meant to speak out loud, but the urge had been too strong for him.

He knew Edmund didn’t really expect answers, or that his talking wasn’t even for Weston’s benefit – it was more a babbling, a telling of his own power fantasy for his own sake, to fuel his own pleasure. It had to be- it _sounded_ like it – no one would find the way he talked arousing.

“Yeah, you do. Did you jerk off, then?” Weston nodded, his mouth parted but no sound escaping him. “Thought of me fucking you until you came all over your pretty self. Bet it didn’t feel that great, though, because you didn’t have my cock inside you, just memories of it.” Weston choked on his breath but, before he could form the thought to deny it, Edmund had already resumed his talking. “Though you had something else, instead. Didn’t leave you all empty. Did you- did you keep it there while you were jerking off?”

“I had to.”

“Fucking shit,” Edmund murmured. “No, you didn’t. Holy fucking hell.” His voice turned hoarser through Weston’s panting breathes and his steadily growing hard dick, even though nothing but the fabric of his boxer was touching it. “You wanted to, pretty boy, just admit it. Wanted to keep my come inside you for as long as you could, because you love it.”

He shuddered. “No, I-”

“Yes, you do. No one was forcing you, but you did it anyway, because you wanted to.” The accusation made his eyes sting, suddenly. A new want, the want to cry, to just let it all out swelled and merged and Weston bit on his lip to hold the sob, the moan, the everything back.

I didn’t, he told himself, forcing himself to remember how it really happened. It had only been practical to just wash himself once, instead of going back to his cell, clean up, then go to his bed to jerk off to then go back to clean up a second time. Practical. That’s what he had thought, at the time. The other knew nothing, but kept on talking.

“You love it. That’s why you were so pouty this morning.” No, that wasn’t true. “All of today. It was gone, and you wanted another load.” Edmund bent over, then, his chest hovering right above Weston’s back and his lips brushing against his ear, making his heart skip a beat and his eyes flutter shut as the move brought him back to the fantasy he had, that night. He had just been angry, Weston struggled to remind himself. Their hips were now moving back and forth, in tandem, as if they were dancing at a club, except the only music was the staccato of Weston’s pounding heart. “There’s no need to deny it, pretty boy, I can see it plainly right now, just like I could see it those past days,” he whispered in Weston’s ear, sounding more than smug, before he straightened up, pulling Weston’s head along and made them walk until Weston’s front rested against the wall, his body pinned between the cold concrete on his dick’s side and the burning warmth of Edmund’s body on his back. Still, it was friction on his front, it was something to alleviate the twisted emotion confusing his body. “Don’t worry. I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Now what do you say to that?”

Tomorrow, yes, Weston thought. A rush of relief passed through his body, making him choke on his breath with surprise. “Thank you, sir,” he said, his tone almost biting as he scrambled to regain control of the situation, in vain.

“There’s my desperate little cumslut.” He tensed, his mouth twisting in a wince, as he hurried to tell himself he wasn’t. He didn’t notice the slowing down of his hips, until he was standing almost still, tense, his hands half-closed into fists resting on the wall, tucked against his chest. “Here’s what’s going to happen, tomorrow. You’ll come meet me at the gym, tomorrow afternoon, just after lunch, and I’ll fuck your mouth there. That’ll be your dessert.” Chuckling, Edmund lifted his thumb to Weston’s bottom lip and tugged at it, pulling it from under Weston’s teeth before he stroked along the sensitive skin here, sending shivers straight to his dick. “You’ll come here later, too, and that’s when I’ll fuck you.”

Weston’s head was spinning, spinning, spinning. Confused, furious, nervous, sad and still excited, nonetheless. The mix of feelings was unsettling at best, unnerving at worst, and Weston didn’t know what to think.

He remained in the same state of mind through the other’s orgasm, standing still through every snap of his hips but not being completely aware of anything else but the boiling turmoil in his head. Only when Edmund stepping away brought him back to reality, and Weston shuffled toward the door, his head down and his brows furrowed slightly.

“Think of putting in more enthusiasm, next time, pretty boy. I’m not here to do all the work,” Edmund spat as Weston’s hand raised to knock at the door, making it still in the air.

“Why would I do that?” Weston retorted, his voice no louder than a whisper and sounding strangely blank, despite the numerous and messy feelings he was experiencing.

“Have you forgotten our agreement, already? You’re in a bit of predicament, pretty boy,” he added before Weston could say anything. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that keeping me satisfied is in your best interest, unless you’d rather serve as a cumdump for the entire center when I’m gone. As far as things are standing, right now, that’s where you’re heading straight, might as well start now.”

“I’m doing what I can!” Weston exclaimed.

“Well it’s not enough. Start doing more. Shouldn’t be hard for you, though, you’re a natural.”

“You-” Weston bit back the insult just in time, settling instead. He was right, he needed to remember what was happening, what he was doing that for. One man, one man or a hundred of them – it was an easy decision to make.

“You were going to say something?”

Swallowing back his pride, not for the first time and not for the last, Weston reassured himself – inside this wretched place or outside – he shook his head, a sense of dread flooding his mouth. It was only starting, but he had a feeling it was going to get even worse than it currently was.

Didn’t matter. He’ll get through this.

“No, sir.”

“Good. Tomorrow, gym. Don’t forget.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter! This one is more plot than smut, but some plot is necessary for things to... not improve (or at least that depends on the POV) but definitely change.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

He didn’t forget the gym and then the cell on the next day, nor on all the days that followed. Putting every time, for every single task, as much enthusiasm as he could. Edmund at least seemed satisfied, and hadn’t mentioned anything like that again.

Soon, three weeks since that day had passed, and Weston was almost sure he was back in the other’s good graces, and on for his last two months to be spent peacefully. He had worked hard for it, had made a point to always show up a smile on his face and to never complain about anything, were it condoms or the – on certain days – truly ludicrous amount of time the guy insisted on coming. But instead to be grateful, call him sir and even ask nicely, that one time, only to find himself nearly sobbing when he was denied, and denied, and denied. The humiliating words kept coming, but they bounced off him with amazing ease now.

Three weeks had passed, almost four since it all began, and Weston was exhausted.

His pretending mask was crumbling a little more every day, and he couldn’t pick up the pieces quickly enough between two meetings, let alone put them back together.

His only relief was the actual sex, and how easy it was to focus on the physical part of it, the pleasurable part. Sure, the crashing down that inevitably followed was all the more painful, but for those sweet minutes, his body reactions took over and agreed with the pretending enthusiastic mask he was clinging on, and Weston could rest.

Even his boyfriend was more of a – not a nuisance, because his Jimmy could never be a nuisance, but a bother, yes this he was.

Because, despite what he might pretend with all his gut and every fiber of his being, he didn’t love being called pretty boy, or a needy whore, or being used like a personal cumdump, or any of the upsetting things Edmund liked to call him. He didn’t love it.

He loved his boyfriend, and missed him. His sweet, kind boyfriend who kissed his cheek. Who didn’t throw him out as soon as he came, but instead wrapped his arms around him and stroked his hair. Fuck, how he missed him. That’s what he wanted, what he yearned for and what he needed to hear, after so many insults, so many malicious words thrown at his face, every day, without any care.

Except the opportunity to speak with James had turned rarer, as well, all because of Edmund’s inhuman sex drive. Or his inhuman wish to see Weston bend over, or on his knees, several times a day, with flushed cheeks and eyes brimming with an unsettling mix of humiliation and desire Weston preferred not to think about. Ever.

He’d then end his day on his own, muffling moans of pleasure in the crook of his palm, his mind going white after a series of images continuing what he had just left in the other’s cell. And he wouldn’t think about those either.

The phone booths were opened for him on Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays, and only for fifteen minutes – the calls themselves not being allowed to exceed the five minutes mark – in the very beginning of the afternoon. Around an hour after lunch ended. Straight at the time the other wanted his presence at the gym for his middle of the day blowjob.

And, on the few occasions that didn’t take place, and Weston was free to call him, James stayed mostly quiet, and getting a loving word was harder than pulling molar teeth out.

Weston knew his boyfriend must still feel guilty, but the decision was made. There was no need of James feeling guilty anymore, or at least not in his presence, not when he wanted love, and not remorse. Now Weston was here, and he’d like to have his small, short moment with the man he loved be a moment where he felt all his worries, all his pains lift from his shoulders, not add to them.

But, more often than not, this was what happened, until Weston had found himself almost relieved when Edmund would murmur for him to follow him to the gym, during lunch, on those days. At least sex allowed his mind to rest.

The fact he never came himself during their encounters wasn’t as upsetting as he thought it would be, too. Frustrating, yes, he wouldn’t lie, but only on the moment. No, getting aroused was fine, normal even, just a physical reaction in front of a sexual situation. But if he actually came, well, it’d be different. It’d mean he actually liked how the other treated him, which wasn’t the case. He might pretend he did, for his own sake – and not Edmund’s, even if his own sake included keeping Edmund happy with him – but, deep down, he didn’t.

It was all to keep Edmund satisfied with him, so he would keep his end of the agreement even when he’d be gone.

And Weston managed to do that. It wasn’t him bragging, it was simply evident. The other was still looking at him with a coldness that chilled him, mixed with contempt, but it was clear he _was_ satisfied. Relieved. Happy. Whatever he wanted to call it.

Still, maintaining his enthusiasm to a maximum level when it definitely wasn’t the case was taking a toll on him. Weston found himself more on edge, despite clinging to that half-faked enthusiasm, unnerved, ready to lose his temper at the fall of a feather – not that he ever was the most patient of men, but still, he had never spent his days angry like he currently was. All piled up: the exhaustion, the bother concerning his boyfriend, the never-ending pretending, the confusion because the sex was great, the guilt and the loneliness.

Wiping the water out of his eyes, Weston sighed, puffing out his cheeks while he grabbed for his towel and wrapped it around his waist. Showers didn’t put him on an anxious level of unrest anymore, especially since that day Edmund had sucked and chewed a bruise on the back of his neck when they had fucked. The monstrous thing was still there, more than a week later, but at least had the advantage of Weston being able to take his showers on his own, without Edmund or Matt or John or any of the guards sticking close to him, and not eat perched on Edmund’s lap anymore.

Most of the other inmates knew, now, and most importantly, they had figured he wouldn’t change his mind and go to them. It had taken them time, but they had finally figured it out. And so, the creeping gazes had diminished until they were as noticeable as the sorts he received outside.

Another reason to be happy, glad even, Weston pointed out to himself, but it still didn’t work into bringing a genuine smile to his face.

Glancing around to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything, Weston absentmindedly noticed the rather consequent gathering at the end of the shower room without paying it much attention – he had no want at all to go there, for his own sense of preservation – before he whipped his head back to it, and his eyes zeroed on the mop of dark curls he knew now where to spot.

Then, as if the time had slowed down, Weston’s eyes narrowed as they followed down the tilted-back head, taking in the flushed cheeks and the well-familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth he could see on the way, the arched throat before they met Edmund’s back. Then, down to his ass. For a second, Weston thought of nothing but how handsome the man looked, without his clothes on, as it was the first time he saw a body part that wasn’t either his face or his dick.

However, his mind quickly noticed the slow, steady movement of his hips as he stood in the middle, not of a gathering as Weston had thought at first, but a circle of other inmates, some of them who were jerking their dicks off, some of them not, but all cheering and hollering, their eyes avid and fixed on a huddled figure he had to step to the right to see.

Weston swayed on his feet, suddenly unable to keep his balance until one hand scrambled for the tiled, slippery wall, as his eyes finally fell to the man kneeling between his legs, his lips wrapped around the other’s length, eyes closed and head pinned by a hand clutching at his hair, the face not one Weston recognized. One who arrived in the morning, the logical part of his mind supplied, before it was quickly crushed by a righteous fury that turned his vision red and his gut icy cold.

Sniffling with as much disdain as he could muster, he darted on the other direction. He ignored the “Watch where you’re going, you bitch!” spat at him when he bumped in someone and grabbed his clothes, putting them on in a record time before storming out of that place.

That didn’t stay unnoticed. In fact, it was the first thing Edmund asked him about, when he met him not an hour later, the other’s posture cautious and defensive.

It immediately tore down all Weston’s giddy mask, as well as the raging mess of nerves swarming in his belly.

“What was that?” Weston repeated, not believing the other didn’t get it. “I could ask you the very same thing. What the hell were you thinking? How could you-” he sighed, not even knowing how to finish his own sentence, his own reproach choosing from the thousands of things he reproached the other of, with how baffled he was feeling.

Edmund’s eyes narrowed. Then, after a second of reflection, he crossed the distance and cornered him against the wall, staring him down. Though his eyes still remained curiously wary, as if he was expecting Weston to be the one to attack him when it clearly wasn’t the case. And wouldn’t be.

“Don’t forget your place,” Edmund warned. “Don’t forget it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a deal we have. I have no answer to give to anyone, and least of all you, pretty boy. I can fuck whoever I want, and it doesn’t concern you. And I don’t care for your… your feelings,” he sneered, spitting that last word as if it personally offended him which…

His… his _feelings_?

Weston stayed dumbfounded for a moment, at first not understanding what feelings and all of the other was saying had to do with the problem at hand, there, before he got it.

Eyebrows raising with shock, Weston felt hilarity bubble up his throat and he let out a bark of laughter. The way the other’s brows furrowed even more, and his nostrils flared slightly with annoyance only made the whole thing more ridiculous than it already was.

“And that’s one understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Weston muttered under his breathe before snorting one last time because… his feelings, come on. Who did that guy think he was? At least the laugh made him forget, if only for a little while, the predicament he was in, thanks to the other’s stupidity. “I don’t forget this is just a deal we have, asshole,” he said then, his voice turning deadly serious. “Unlike you.”

“You certainly reacted like you cared-”

“Because I care! And no, not because I’m developing feelings for you, but because of our deal, actually. Precisely. Tell me, what are your little friends going to think about _me_ , once they see you getting your dick wet by some other guy, hm? Our deal is based on exclusivity, that’s even the whole point of it, need I remind you. This is _your_ end of the agreement.”

“Nowhere have I ever talked about exclusivity.”

“Because it’s a two-way implication! Jesus, have you never had a relationship in your life before? That’s how it works! And now, since you’re clearly whoring yourself out to the first comer, the others are going to think I’m only fair game. So, it does concern me.”

Before he could continue, Edmund slammed him into the wall. “Apologize. Right now,” he ordered, his voice rough and his eyes burning. It was difficult to hold them, but Weston still did. He wouldn’t let the past three weeks go to waste because the guy before him can’t keep it in his pants for a few hours. That made him more of a needy, desperate whore than Weston, despite what Edmund liked to call him. “Or I’ll have you regret it.”

“You certainly look like one, right now, though,” he answered instead. The words were soft and low, his voice choked from the fear clogging his throat. His whole body tensed as if anticipating for a blow – the relief from spitting those words to the other’s face was worth it, though – but Edmund did nothing. “So, as long as we’re doing this thing, you won’t sleep with anyone else. Not because I’m developing feelings. Not because I’m enjoying your fucking,” even if that particular bit was slightly a lie. “And not because I’m desperate for your come or whatever you’re thinking right now. I just refuse to have the others think you want to let me go and have everything go to waste.”

“Right now, I really want to let go of you.”

The low threat had the same effect of a slap. Weston’s heart skipped a beat as his entire body turned cold.

“You do?” he asked, a challenge in his eyes. His mouth twisted. His hands tightened into fists. A month of work, three weeks of progress, and here they were. None of Weston’s efforts were worth anything, had improved or changed anything. What was the point? he thought, his exhaustion overpowering him, finally. “Fine,” he muttered, his hand twitching. He wanted to run it in his own hair, he wanted to push the other away, as far, far away from his body and his mind as possible. “Fine. I won’t- I won’t do this anymore. Fuck whoever you want, but not me. I can’t. I don’t want it. Fuck off, let me go.”

Edmund sighed. “Don’t be such a pussy, pretty boy.” He grabbed Weston’s wrist, even though he hadn’t moved an inch. The faster way would have to push Edmund away, but Weston didn’t want to touch the other in any way. Was feeling sick, was feeling like he could punch something, at the mere thought of it. With his other hand, he tilted Weston’s chin up, to meet his eyes. “To leave now would be stupid. Now pull down your pants.”

“No.”

“No? Be serious. The second the other see you’re fair game, as you say it, they’ll take turns at you. And I wouldn’t be there to protect you anymore.”

“I don’t care. I’ll fight them all off if need be.”

He had the gall to laugh, then, as if he had any idea what Weston could do. “You? Fighting them all off? You wouldn’t last a minute, pretty boy.” Then, with a more serious tone, he added, “You’re so weak I could break you in half like a twig. Look at you, as pretty and delicate as a girl. You stand no chance at all against any of us, here.”

“I’d still rather try than spend one more minute-”

“You’re not thinking that.”

“Watch me,” Weston bit back.

“I can’t believe you’re making such a fuss for this little thing. Not you. Not when you bend over so easily with a boyfriend outside.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is. That makes you a bit hypocritical, doesn’t it?”

Before his hand could long deservedly land on Edmund’s cheek, the other snatched his wrist, holding it a few centimeters away from his face, his eyes turning mocking.

“See? You’re even hitting like one.” He chuckled as Weston’s face flared up. “Still, protest and pout and whine all you want, pretty boy, doesn’t mean it’s not true.”

“Fuck you.” Weston twisted his hand away, wincing at the burning sensation. He braced himself against the other’s chest and pushed as strongly as he could. “Let me go.”

“I’m warning you,” Edmund said, blocking his way with his arm. Gone were the mocking glint, the annoyed or even cautious stance. His face was closed, not one bit of emotion or feeling; it was the way he had looked, that very first day. Weston couldn’t say if the memory relieved or unnerved him. “If you cross that door, then I’m not lifting any finger to help you when you’ll need it. Not even if you beg for it. Our agreement’s done.”

“Go make another with that guy,” was all Weston said before he knocked on the door and left without glancing back, his steps already lighter, barely making themselves heard in the eerily silent corridors.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter! :)

With an enormous lump in his throat and his fingers hovering over the phone’s keypad, Weston still paused. He had sworn to himself that he couldn’t call, that he _wouldn’t_ call, and yet here he was, about to anyway.

The truth was, he didn’t want to talk to his boyfriend today. He felt drained, his entire body aching, the knuckles on his right hand even more, and wanted some comfort. Not to be the one providing it, just receiving and basking in it for a little while. Or at least until he had to step out of the booth.

Glancing at the clock ticking on the wall, Weston took his decision and rapidly dialed the number, in case doing it slowly would make him overthink and change his mind.

His sister picked up on the second dial. “Yeah?” she said, and Weston had to breathe deeply through his nose to keep any tears from falling.

“Hi Sarah, it’s me,” was all he managed to choke out before he pinched his lips together, trying to regain his composure.

“Weston? How are you? Finally, you’re calling back. We’ve been texting you for days and you never answered, we were starting to get worried. Dad even said-”

“I know. I’m sorry. I lost my phone. Please tell everyone not to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Right. It’s okay, it happens. This is your new number? I’ll give it to mom-”

Wincing, Weston was reminded one of the reasons why he shouldn’t have called them. “Don’t. It’s, um, the phone of a friend of James. It’s not mine, I’m giving it back to him just after.”

His sister laughed. “Alright, got it. Do you want to speak to Sean? He’s somewhere in the house, but I can call him there if you want.”

“No, no,” Weston said. His brother would definitely know something was off but, contrary to Sarah who’d think it better to not press but wait for Weston to speak, his brother would keep on nagging until the communication would have to be cut. “Thanks. Just tell him I’ve called, and that I’m fine.”

“Alright. He’ll be more relieved to hear it directly from you, anyway, next Sunday. You’re coming, right half a scoop? Dad’s doing granny’s coddle. It’s your favorite.”

“I’m not a baby anymore, you know.”

“You’ll still always be our baby brother.”

“I’m telling Barry, Roisin and Caoimhe that, just so you know. I won’t be held responsible of anything that’d happen to you once they know.”

“So, next Sunday?” she asked, before adding when he didn’t answer immediately, “Everyone’ll be happy to see you. You haven’t given us any sign of life for, like, a month. We were really starting to get worried, you know,” his sister’s voice turned down, “that something happened to you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, should’ve called before. I’ll-I’ll try to call you more often than that. But, Sarah, I won’t be able to come, Sunday. I’m… I’m not home, as of now.”

“You mean…”

“Yeah,” he breathed out, feeling the tip of his ears warm up. “I think it’ll last a couple of months.”

“A couple of months?” his sister repeated, her voice turning higher. “But what about the bakery? Why can’t he do it by himself? Why do you have to come and stay with him for months?”

“I told you, it’s fine. I’m fine.” No. No, he wasn’t. But his sister didn’t know where he was, exactly, and it was useless to worry her even more when there was nothing she, or Sean or anyone could do for him. Besides, “I’m managing just fine on my own.”

“What about him? Why does he need you there? Weston you’re not… you’re not going with him to his drugs things, right?”

“No.” This, at least, he could answer without lying. He glanced another time at the clock. Two minutes left. Damn it. “I’m not. Like I said, don’t worry. And don’t tell Sean.”

“I’ve got half a mind to. He’d box James’ ears and put some sense into his skull, since you’re not doing it yourself. Drugs are shifty, Weston, you never know-”

“- what might happen. Yes, I know. But it’s the same for Sean. For you. For Dad. For all of us.”

“Absolutely not.”

Absolutely yes. “I know how to defend myself,” Weston reminded her, his eyes wandering to the raw skin of his knuckles. A small, proud smile tugged at his lips when he recalled the bewildered face that one guy – Gustave? Gontran? whatever – made once Weston had knocked him off his feet just after lunch.

It had been the second one, and Weston figured he wouldn’t be the last. The past five days had been strange, as everyone kept watching him uncertainly, as he went around his day without coming into a two meters radius of Edmund, not knowing what it meant.

Then, this morning, the news must have been absorbed, and two other inmates had come with their _new offers_ and _second chances_. The first one had left him alone after Weston had blown him off, with only a growly – truly, he didn’t know what they all got with those growls sounds – thinly veiled threat that he’d regret it. G-something had been less shrewd, and thus had needed a more physical answer Weston had been more than happy to give him.

It didn’t matter. He would punch them all, fight with them all until they got it. He still had his ace, up his sleeve.

He hoped Edmund would notice, somehow. He might not be bulky, _weak_ as the other had called him, but plain strength wasn’t the only way to win a fight.

“I know you do.”

“James wants me there,” he said, despite it not being that evident. His boyfriend hadn’t wanted to come here had been more like it. But it had been impossible for him to leave his job, not now things were finally turning in their favor. “He’s careful. It’s… it’s a great opportunity for him. You know I told you he’s been slowly making his way up, and now’s his chance to get truly noticed by the Duke, and start working for him full-time.” Sarah stayed silent at that. She knew what it meant, just as he did. “He’d have a surer place. We’d be able to move out, to a better apartment. It’d mean money, Sarah, money and security. One room for each of us. All-time warm water. All-time electricity. Roisin and Caoimhe could go to college, even you if you wanted. And he’d give a nice word about Dad and Sean and-”

“It’s not your role to worry about all that, Weston,” Sarah softly pointed out.

“Of course, it is!” It was the only reason he was getting out of bed in the morning. The promise – the close promise – of their lives being bettered soon. It was so close to his reach Weston could already feel it, warming the tips of his fingers. “I’m not a kid anymore, I can take care of all of you, just like you always did for me. We’re a family, Sarah, that’s what it means. We worry about each other. We look out for each other.”

“Still,” she murmured after some time. “Be careful.”

“I am,” he promised, glancing once again at the clock. As at random, the guard knocked on the glass window at the same time. “I have to go, now. I’ll call you back. Soon. Tell everyone I said hi. Take care, all of you. Love you.”

“I will. Love you too,” Sarah answered, and the line cut.

Weston stood without moving for a moment, the receiver still pressed against his ear, his eyes screwed shut as water gathered in them, breathing deeply. It had been a good idea, after all, to call his sister, he decided. Hearing her voice, knowing everyone was well, even ensure none of them worried too much about him, was giving him enough strength to put the receiver down and step out of the booth.

Into Edmund.

His heart skipped a beat, but he schooled his features in a blank expression. He couldn’t say he didn’t expect the other to come find him sooner or later. He glanced at the three other guys, the ones who always ate with him: Matthew, Frank and Coby. They were making their presences known, which was flattering in itself, but stood far enough to make him understood they’d take no part in what’d happen. In a similar fashion, the guard who had just banged on Weston’s booth not two minutes ago was very obviously looking anywhere but at them.

Weston almost rolled his eyes, before he remembered he could do so without thinking, now, and did.

Before he could make a move to leave, however, Edmund spoke, making his steps falter. “Don’t leave so quickly, pretty boy. That’s just rude. There’s something I want to tell you.”

“First, stop calling me that. Second, the rude one between the two of us is certainly not me. And third, I have no want at all to talk to you in any way. Goodbye.”

“Listen, then. I saw what you did to Gordon.” Weston stopped in his steps, the corners of his mouth curling with a smile. “Surprising, considering the scrawny body.”

Weston sighed, the smile dying down before he turned around to face the other, his arms crossed protectively over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

“Quite obviously talking to you,” Edmund said, lifting an eyebrow and mirroring Weston’s posture.

“You don’t talk without a purpose.”

“Thanks for the compliment, pretty boy.”

“It wasn’t one.”

“Oh really? You make strange insults, then.” Out of the corner of his eye as he was slowly shaking his head, sighing through his nose, Weston glimpsed the other smirk. Some things apparently didn’t change, and the power game thrilling for the other to play was one of those. “Let’s make a new arrangement, you and me.”

“No,” Weston retorted without taking the time to realize what exactly the other had said. “What?” he spluttered, blinking slowly and glancing interrogatively at him. Edmund was looking back as seriously as ever which… was ridiculous. “Why would I ever do that?” He lifted one hand when the other opened his mouth. “That’s rhetorical. Don’t answer that. Go back to that new boy of yours.”

Edmund had indeed swiftly replaced him with, if Weston wasn’t mistaken – and he could be, since it had happened almost a week ago and he hadn’t taken the time to take a second look – the very same boy he had been fucking, that evening in the shower. From what he had understood, his name was Ashley and he just came here, and had been looking around for protection. Not that Weston cared at all.

“You want to.”

“In your dreams, fucker,” Weston retorted, feeling somehow more offended by the utter confidence the other spoke with, rather than the implications of the words. He had learnt quickly not to look too long for the implications of the words, for his own sake. “If you think for one second I’m going to go back being a dummy for you to string along, you’re sticking your own finger in your eye, up to the elbow. No way. I’m doing perfectly fine on my own, and don’t need your protection or anything you could ever offer me. If you still doubt it, go ask your Gavin.”

“Gordon. And he was the one coming to me, to complain. He didn’t know if I should be the one to do something about you, or if he should. I told him I’d take care of it.” Edmund licked his lips. “But no, this has nothing to do with it. To keep our arrangement is just the most logical thing to do,” he added with a half shrug.

“Logical for you.”

“Logical for both of us. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it, at least as much as I enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t,” Weston lied through his teeth. Like hell would he ever admit it to the other, though. “I’m just a very good actor.”

Edmund ignored the deceit and took a step closer. Weston didn’t know why he allowed the other to invade his personal space without protesting, but it was like the mere presence of Edmund was enough to pin him on the spot, now. Which promised to be troublesome, at the very least. “I remember the contrary. And you’re a very poor actor, pretty boy,” he whispered near Weston’s ear, hopefully missing the shiver that ran across his body. It wasn’t his fault, it was his body. “No, you loved it. You must considerably miss it.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I really don’t.”

“That’s not what your roommate told me.”

He frowned. Really, Emerald? Weston would have a conversation with him as soon as he happened on him. “The fact I’m jerking off at night doesn’t mean anything. In fact, I seem to recall it explicitly wasn’t a concern of yours.”

“I know you’re still thinking of me.”

Maybe. Once or twice, Weston thought, licking his lips. Only for a couple of seconds. Why would he think about the other for more than that? “There’s no way you can know something like that.”

“You’re blushing, pretty boy. And you’re not denying it.” Weston was gaping, his eyes and mouth wide and his arms slowly loosening. “You still need someone to protect you, and you and I both know how much you enjoy me fucking you.”

A lot, that was true. What could Weston say, the other had a nice dick and knew how to use it. And this was without even allowing Weston to come, and calling him the most annoying pet names ever, and the humiliating words he liked to grit out to him, with a hoarse voice and when his steady thrusts would turn jerky. The last one, especially. The last one was especially not arousing at all.

No, really, Weston should focus more on those part, to remind himself why it was a very, awfully bad idea.

“Don’t you have someone else to fuck? Why me, suddenly?”

“You’re better, and way prettier.” A strange, unexpected warmth spread in his gut. “Like I said,” Edmund added, his voice smiling, “you’re a nice lay, and it’s not like there’s many things more interesting to do here.”

Nibbling on the inside of his cheek, Weston tilted his head, considering the idea. “I see your point, I suppose. But I’d have conditions.” Would. See, it was still hypothetical.

Edmund’s smirk widened. “Go on.”

“I get to come, once we’re done fucking.” The obvious tone of his voice called for no retort. “Every time.”

“You’re more grateful.”

“You stop calling me- wait. What did you say?”

“I told you my first condition. The second one, for whatever it is you were gonna say, is that I’ll let you come, but only if you beg me.”

Weston shook his head, his brows pulling together. “No, no, no. You don’t get to make conditions.”

“Why not? One for you, one for me. It’s only fair, pretty boy.”

“No way. I’m not agreeing to any of your conditions.”

“Then I’m not agreeing to any of yours.”

“Wait.” The word escaped Weston before he could overthink himself. To be fair, there wasn’t much to overthink about. The question was simple. Was it worth it? Yes. The assurance of orgasm at the end was making it very much worth it. So much. “Alright for the first one, but that’s it,” Weston said, his voice sounding already a bit breathless with impatience.

“Fine. You’ll come if you beg-”

“Very funny, but that won’t work with me. I’m not that stupid. It was you asking me to be more grateful,” whatever that meant, though Weston supposed it involved some more sir calling. That wasn’t so bad, “not begging. I won’t beg.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“We won’t see anything.” And, this time, his voice sounded actually as confident as it was supposed to. He wouldn’t beg. Sure, he may li-enjoy, the other had said enjoy and Weston had to admit he preferred that word, sex, and particularly sex with him. But that didn’t mean he’d be desperate for it. Especially since he’d get to come each time.

Besides, if the other kept on calling him pretty boy and all the sort, there was even less chance of Weston truly losing control. To hear that would always hold him back.

“We will,” Edmund retorted, his smirk still pulling at his lips, making Weston want to punch it out of his face. “Now,” he added, his hand coming to Weston’s chest and pushing him lightly backward, toward the empty phone booth, “let’s celebrate this new agreement and seal it in a more tangible manner.”

Weston halted as soon as the words reached his head. “Wait, not now.”

“Now’s not the time to turn shy, pretty boy. We both know you’re nothing like that, so let’s not waste time needlessly. As for the others,” he added when Weston opened his mouth to protest, albeit not entirely over that point, “I’m sure they need the reminder.”

“I’m not blowing you here. I have no idea if you just got your dick sucked or not, so I’m not touching it with a two miles radius,” Weston protested, pressing his lips together when Edmund took that as an invitation to grind their hips together, biting back a sigh. “After you shower, I’ll come then. Until then, go find your Ashley and tell him you’re becoming exclusive.”

“Who?”

“Very funny. I’ll join you only if I see him crying, at dinner.”

“Tonight,” Edmund repeated, gazing intently in Weston’s half hooded eyes, his smirk still there. “Don’t be late. I’m holding you to that promise, pretty boy.”

“We’ll see about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tin tin tin_ Plot's getting thicker and smut's coming back (yeah, those 2 last chapters were too easy for me to write, I gotta go back to the "first goal" of that story)
> 
> Hope you liked it!
> 
> (More than a hundred kudos it's... wow it's amazing. Me who thought at the begining it would be great if 5 persons clicked and came back for each chapter, since it's a plot-light original work with original characters no one but me knew about... I'm really thankful to each of you who click on that story and keep coming back for each new chapter *-* <3)  
> And it's not over :) !


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!  
> Hope you enjoy it, and the beginning of that second agreement those two have

“But why would you tell him that?” Weston repeated, his eyes still wide and watching incomprehensively at his roommate’s shrugging. He hadn’t been anything else but slightly annoyed at the other boy, when Edmund had ‘dropped the bomb’ or so to speak, but the situation, and his roommate’s lack of apology, was slowly starting to irk him. “Why are you even talking to him?”

The other boy sighed, but finally relented, shrugging, as if it didn’t matter at all and he couldn’t figure out why Weston didn’t want his every moves – especially the more private ones, he really shouldn’t have to draw the other a picture – reported back. As far as he knew, Emerald wasn’t one of Edmund’s minions, or strange bodyguards, or part of his buddies, as Weston liked to call them. There was no need for his roommate to be talking to… other guy.

“I thought he might use the information. And I’d rather be on his good side, whatever fight you two had. You’re way less dangerous to piss off.”

Weston let his arms fall down.

Should he play stupid? The question wasn’t worth asking. Of course he should. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you know who he is?” He shook his head, nibbling at the inside of his cheek and hoping Emerald would bite. “Well, let’s say that the least one can say is that he’s got good relations. Why do you think people here are so cautious with you once you started fucking him? It’s all his influence.”

He already knew that from his boyfriend, but it seemed Emerald didn’t know more than him. It seemed this was what everybody knew of other guy. Sighing, Weston gave up trying to press for more. “Alright. Just, please, don’t tell him things like that. I’m sorry if I woke you up, that won’t happen again.”

Emerald snorted. “Oh it won’t? Don’t get your hopes up, though, except if you’ve learnt to come untouched in the past week.” Yeah, no, that only happened in porn, right? James had wanted to try it, but it hadn’t worked, even when Weston had tried to focus more. Duh. Sex wasn’t the time to focus on anything, according to him, except what felt good and how to keep it feeling good. Anyway, when his boyfriend had given up on talking, Weston had given up on trying to come by the will of the Holy Spirit, and they had been even. “He’s not gonna touch you. He doesn’t touch anyone.”

The words had made him stop what he was doing and look up at his roommate, sat on his top bed, as realization dawned on his face. His stomach twisted unpleasantly. “You slept with him, too?”

“Of course.” The answer was accompanied by a scoff and a wave of a dainty hand, as if it were this evident. Weston supposed he could have guessed it, indeed. All personal vindication at knowing their new arrangement included him coming at the end when it had been different for Emerald vanished to uneasiness. That made him… well, he wasn’t going to think about that now. Ever. This was their new deal. “Have you seen him?” Emerald continued, uncaring for Weston’s current thoughts. “Has he fucked you? Then you know what I’m talking about. I’m not stupid enough to turn him down when he’s hotter than all my regulars. Why? Are you jealous?”

“Of course not.” It was Weston’s turn to scoff at the ridiculous idea. He was just cautious, and didn’t want to be hit on when he was fucking Edmund already, even though the sex part was maybe slightly because the fucking was good. “I don’t give a shit who he’s fucking and who he’s not.” Especially now that he couldn’t be sure what Emerald would repeat and what he would keep to himself.

“Great. Cause I for sure won’t say no if he comes asking.”

Wonderful.

“You do you, buddy.”

Before he could think of something else to say, the door to their cell opened, making Emerald snort again and him stop pacing. Milan glanced inside and gestured for him to follow. Now, Weston knew the way as well as the one from the self to his cell, and the burly man’s presence was unnecessary, as far as he was concerned. But he figured Edmund needed something for the man to do, and this, escorting him back and forth, was convenient.

“Didn’t expect to see you again,” Milan told him as they turned at the last corner before Edmund’s cell. Weston only hummed noncommittally, his mind still going over the conversation he just had with his roommate. What a way to break the eager mood – yes, he could admit it to himself, sex was better with two people, especially since the agreement’s improvements – he had found himself in. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had wanted to have to fight off stupid guys all days long either.

So, even though he would _never_ declare it out loud, he felt like skipping inside the cell, when Milan opened the door for him like he was someone important or something. The thought made his mouth twitch in a smile as his eyes immediately fell on Edmund, sitting on his so-great-and-enticing-looking bed, his legs spread and his arms resting nonchalantly – so, in a pose Weston was sure the other had thought about – on his thighs, his hands near his crotch.

The other waited for Weston’s eyes to meet his back before he lowered them slowly, looking down and then back up his body in a way Weston had found himself not missing at all. Even now, his reaction remained puzzling, Weston having been more used to loathe being ogled at like that than feel the slight shiver of pride running down his back.

That really was one horny brain he had, wasn’t it?

“Aren’t you going to come here, pretty boy?” Edmund said or, well, demanded was more accurate, because even the offers that guy made weren’t propositions as much as orders.

Still, the arrangement had shifted. There were conditions, now, and Weston hadn’t forgotten his. “Didn’t see Ashley crying, at dinner.” The boy had certainly looked frightened enough, sitting on his own and glancing longingly at Edmund’s table every few seconds, but his eyes had been tearless. Weston remained standing up, leaning his back against the door, and far from where the other obviously wanted him to be. He smirked when Edmund lifted one eyebrow at him.

“And yet here you are. I thought what happened would be clear enough, I didn’t think you’d want him really crying. That seems rather cruel, coming from you.”

“That was the deal,” he said, watching how Edmund’s shoulders minutely relaxed under his ugly orange jumpsuit. He himself had come in his pajamas, as he had taken the habit to do since the very beginning, the pants quicker to pull off and then back on. Though a part of his brain – the only in direct link to his dick, that was for sure – despaired from seeing the other naked. It had never happened, and Weston could only fabricate from what little he had glimpsed, that time with the wider opened top at the gym and that other one – fully naked, granted – back and arse and legs far away in the showers, but which had only lasted half a second.

And which had been swiped away at once when Weston had noticed the other boy between his legs, fears and worries and anger coming crashing upon him and leaving no place for any admiration.

“I’ll have him crying tomorrow, then.” Edmund waved his hand in the air, before he gestured for Weston to come kneel between his legs.

“Then perhaps I’ll just come back tomorrow.”

“You’re a cheeky one, aren’t you pretty boy?”

“You have no idea,” Weston mouthed, the words no louder than a breath as he glanced around, suddenly not knowing if he should speak them louder or do something else. He hadn’t expected the other to answer his remark about Ashley, at first, and didn’t really know what they were doing. Chatting, yes, they were chatting. But they had never had the habit to do that.

It ended up feeling like he shouldn’t have made that first remark, and just dropped to his knees when Edmund had told him to, the way it used to happen between them. Weston’s eyes found the other’s crotch, then, almost effortlessly. It felt weird to just do that now, to forego the past minute and straightly pull the other’s cock out, but it felt weird to keep on chatting as well, like they needed to, before coming to the fucking part.

“Well,” Edmund spoke finally, calling his attention back to his face. Weston licked his lips and didn’t even blush, “stop being cheeky and come here. I seem to recall we both had conditions to our coming here.”

Right. More gratitude. This was easy, and Weston did was feeling a tad grateful he wasn’t the one who had to navigate between that strange chatting bit to sex. “Thank you, sir,” he said, allowing a bit of cheekiness to remain in his tone as he crossed the distance and lowered himself to his knees. “For allowing me to grace your evening with my presence.” Still without any pillow, but at least he could hope it wouldn’t last long. If the strange but quite welcomed way the front of his uniform looked strained was any indication, it wouldn’t.

Before Weston could start to unbutton it, however, Edmund gritted out a, “Wait,” his hands flying to push his away. Weston hissed between his teeth when they touched, snatching them away himself in a knee-jerk reaction at the contact. “Take these off first.”

Weston’s heart skipped a beat and he sprung to his feet, his hands shaking slightly as he fumbled with the front of his pants before he remembered he just had to pull it down.

“Your top, too,” Edmund added before Weston could go back to his previous position, making him stop for a few seconds and frown, looking at the other uncertainly. “Go on, pretty boy.” The almost sounding encouraging words were accompanied by a nudge on the side of his thigh, the familiar sensation of rough cotton on his bare skin leaving a warmth in its path.

“I…”

“Don’t be shy now.” He didn’t think it was shyness. More about vulnerability. More about disappointment the other would stay all bundled up. “It’s not like I never saw you naked before.”

Indeed, Weston thought, taking off his top, the cold room making him shiver even in the middle of the movement, the other had come with him to the showers, at the beginning of their first arrangement. He wasn’t sure anymore what to think about the other definitely watching him during those times. Going back to his knees, he made quick work of his trousers and licked his palm before sneaking his hand underneath Edmund’s boxers.

He hissed slightly when his without a doubt still chilled fingers wrapped around him and he twisted his wrist. Blindly, he started to carefully build up a rhythm, his hand warming up quickly. The other had already been aroused, and hardened under his palm with a couple of strokes to Weston’s satisfaction. His own cock twitched against his thigh when Edmund’s hips started to rock, following the movement. All of Weston’s breath left him.

“You’re still being cheeky, as I see it.” Edmund clicked his tongue. “Quit teasing, pretty boy, you’re not here for that.”

So Weston stopped and pulled the other’s boxer out of the way, letting his gaze trail up till he met Edmund’s. “I’m sorry, sir,” he murmured as Edmund looked pointedly down to his own lap. Weston’s eyes never wavered away from the other’s face as his hand reached for his dick, holding it right.

“I’ll let you suck me off for a minute before I’ll fuck you. I know you must’ve missed having me in your mouth, and I know how much you love sucking on something.”

“Thank you, sir,” Weston answered before Edmund could pry for it.

“Stop talking, show me instead.”

Weston dove for the other’s dick, swallowing it almost in one go, his tongue immediately starting to lick and curl and shift. Despite the way his lids threatened to droop at the musky – but clean – taste flooding his mouth, he kept his eyes on Edmund’s face, not missing the way they darkened as they kept watching him like a hawk, catching the way his nostrils flared when he swallowed around the cock in his mouth or his jaw bulged when he pressed his face forward, as far as those stupid trousers allowed him to.

“Yes,” Edmund hissed when he hummed, his hand coming to cup the back his neck.

It didn’t need to; Weston had no want to stop.

Instead, he begun to bob his head up and down, slowly, his eyes still fixed on the other’s features and basking on every little twitch he made. Making sure he used a lot of tongue, just like he had discovered the other liked, and even letting some spit dribble down the corner of his mouth and his chin. His own cock was now half-hard, and a part of his mind was conscious of it, albeit that other, bigger part focused on Edmund’s cock took precedence over everything else. Weston had to remind himself to breathe and, mainly, to keep on looking.

He had never done so, before, preferring at first try to picture his boyfriend’s cock in front of him, and his boyfriend’s cock only, and then not wanting to glimpse at the cocky, or worse, the haughtiness he was sure he would find up there, for fear it be the last stroke that’d shatter his mask.

Fuck, had he been wrong.

The sight was mesmerizing, dangerous in its allure. It made him go farther, press closer. No enthusiasm needed to be faked, when he kept on looking, and Weston wondered for a brief moment if it might not have been best, had he just looked from day first. Had he just stared back into those eyes that never left his face either, as if only waiting for him to flutter them close, to be the one who’d look away first, the one overwhelmed by the sensations. Had he observed how Edmund’s cheeks flushed slowly, instead of hearing how shaky each of his exhale sounded, or how his lips stayed parted as he panted.

Shivering as he remembered how those pants felt like when the air hit the side of his throat, when the other fucked him, Weston moved his hand to his own dick, palming at the hot flesh in either an attempt to arouse himself further or keep it in check for now. His eyes almost rolled back into his head as he remembered how good it felt-

How good-

How… how there was something missing, right there, right now. Something that had been missed, surprisingly, those past days, even as he had jerked himself off, all alone, in his bed, at night.

Weston felt his eyes turn pleading, asking silently for something he didn’t dare asking aloud, as a soft sound was pulled from his gut.

“Shh, pretty boy,” Edmund rumbled, his voice not sounding as hoarse as he remembered it could, even though he still slowed down his movements, awaiting expectantly for the rest, his heart pounding in his ears, “I know. I know what you want.” Good, Weston thought. “Fuck, I missed that.” Good. “Missed your mouth. Missed how good you feel swallowing around m-yeah, just like that,” he chuckled, his eyes crinkling and his voice airy when Weston did just that. “You’re a fast learner, aren’t you, hm? I bet you missed me, too. Missed me, or missed my cock. Right?” He lifted his other hand, the one that wasn’t still cupping the back of Weston’s neck, and lifted it to his head, patting at the hair there. The obvious condescending aspect of the caress completely flew out of Weston’s mind and his eyes dropped closed as he moaned in approval of the small touch. “Yes,” Edmund said, continuing his patting, “that’s better. It’s alright, pretty boy. You missed my cock and I missed your mouth, but now they’re back to their place, and we can even call it a match made in heaven. I suppose I should have known a greedy mouth like yours would want it all to itself. I thought about fucking your ass, tonight, but I think we’ll keep that for tomorrow, after all.”

His nose scrunched at the idea.

“Hmm, a greedy little thing, like I said,” he repeated, his voice no louder than a whisper. He didn’t need to. Every word sounded as if it was talked directly in Weston’s ear, heady and intoxicating as downing seven shots of vodka in one minute, making Weston’s face warm just like the alcohol would. His eyelids were attempting to flutter open, shake off the strange torpor his brain was floating in, acting as if everything the other was telling him was true.

The fingers at the back of his neck tightened, and Edmund’s hips started rocking, accompanied by rasping yeses and encouragements. Recognizing the pattern for what it meant, and with a shot of impatience which made his head spin for what was to come after, Weston relaxed his jaw and throat and pulled himself out of the torpor, finally managing to open his eyes back. Staring right in Edmund’s, he took in the black eyes and hungry look, the blazing desire that flashed through them before he bared his teeth and his face twisted in pleasure.

Weston would have lost his breath if he wasn’t already short of it at the sight. The screwed shut eyes, the open mouth with shining lips that looked almost soft and inviting, the smoothness of his brows and the tension of his arched throat. It almost made him forget about the cock in his mouth, and he had to hurriedly swallow if he didn’t want it to spill out.

The thought of letting it spill didn’t even cross his mind.

He waited there, his eyes still fixed on the other’s face, the ache in his knees and the throbbing of his own arousal forgotten for a moment as he licked his lips, absentmindedly wetting his dry lips and chasing the taste of Edmund’s come. Darting a look down to the softening cock in front of his eyes, Weston didn’t think before he leaned down and licked it clean, tasting the mix of precome and his own saliva, the corner of his mouth tugging up when he saw the new flicker of pleasure passing on Edmund’s face, as well as felt the cock twitching under his tongue and heard its owner let out a shocked hiss.

Gratitude, he remembered as he leaned back, thus Weston murmured a, “Thank you, sir,” he hoped Edmund had caught. He hoped the way his curled fist tightened around the blanket was the indication he did. So Weston said nothing more, instead sat back onto his legs and kept his own hands on his lap, his own arousal slowly coming back to him, his mouth slightly open as he watched the pleasure slowly fade away from the other’s features, his breathing returning back to normal and his head straightening back up. 

Shit, that was gorgeous.

His eyes widened.

Shit, shit, shit.

Before he had time to reflect or panic or think about that last thought, Edmund opened back his eyes as well and the next thing he knew, Weston was on his lap, straddling his thighs. “Fucking hell, pretty boy,” Edmund growled, and the rough sound sent a thrill down his spine, “you’re one of a kind, aren’t you?”

The sound of the lube bottle opening reached Weston’s ears beneath the slight buzzing coming from inside his brain before finally, _finally_ , Edmund touched him. And the torture began.

_Of fucking course._

His hands tightened around the cloth still covering the other’s shoulders as a shiver ran up his spine, the goosebumps against his skin similar to the so-light-it’s-not-funny brushing along his shaft.

Weston knew it wasn’t a case of the other thinking he was made of glass. Nor that a too harsh touch would break him, for all Edmund’s cocky confidence of his own strength. No, this was just another power trip.

Except he absolutely didn’t have the will to live through. “I’m not gonna beg you,” Weston managed to grit between his teeth, his voice raw as a warning as his hips rocked on their own, chasing the promise of a more. “So fucking get on with it,” he added, half mumbling in a breath and half in his own head.

He wasn’t that far gone to forget this wasn’t something the other would appreciate hearing. And, with his cock actually literally held in Edmund’s hand, Weston was acutely aware this was a time to bit back any complaints he could have.

Edmund’s chuckle sent puffs of air to Weston’s cheek, and the sudden closeness had him screw his eyes shut. The other’s hand stopped its teasing and griped him more firmly, stroking a bit more quickly, though a far cry still from how Weston liked it.

Though Weston willed himself to be grateful for it. For one second, it had almost felt… He feared it would have felt too good for what it was supposed to be. Just getting off, and just physical.

And getting off, Weston wanted to. Had spent the past days – no, who was he kidding, the past weeks – imagining that hand wrapped around him. Imagined the large hand, its dexterity as it transferred from fingering him to stroking him to orgasm, the pace and the pressure and the feel of it.

The reality wasn’t at all how he had imagined it.

He didn’t hear anything else than his own labored, short breathes, turning more high-pitched with each stroke. A small part of his brain was however aware Edmund was talking, catching on one mocking or biting tilt on words that remained muddled and meaningless to him. He couldn’t express how grateful he was for this.

There were words he wanted to hear, but he already knew they wouldn’t be the ones flung to him right now. To focus on the feeling, on that hand and his cock and the curling heat in his groin, this was all he needed.

With this in mind, it didn’t take long before he had to swallow back a moan and his entire body shuddered, pleasure sparking through every one of his nerves and muffling the entire world even more. His body twitched, wanting to curl on itself, grasping at and holding tight the last remnants of pleasure as Weston sobbed, and the outsides turned clearer already.

Fluttering his eyes open, the first thing he saw was the way his hands, still clenched around cloth, were trembling slightly. The other was still there, wiping his hands against a tissue before he cocked his head, looked up at Weston’s face and smirked. “You slutty thing.” Weston winced, his hands shooting away from Edmund’s shoulders. Cold relieved the last bits of heat soaking his insides. “Here.” He threw another tissue to Weston, who caught it easily and scrambled out of the other’s lap, his knees buckling.

Feeling his face flare up at his unmissed loss of balance, Weston still attempted to hide it, ducking it away. Hide it, and the various emotions that no doubt were swimming all across his face in this moment.

Thanks for the reminder, he thought bitterly, replacing the last part with the expected address when he spoke the words aloud. His heart was tugging, inside of his chest, longing and yearning for an embrace, a kind touch, sweet, gentle words whispered in his ear, his body recognizing the pleasure of his orgasm and waiting for the other part, the part that followed, the part that was always next. Just after.

But James wasn’t there. Sitting in front of him, swiftly wiping his hands of any trace of Weston’s come as if it was the most disgusting thing that had ever touched his skin – which wasn’t the case, the other guy was a _murderer_ – was Edmund. Edmund, not James. Of all the days to have his mind finally reminiscing of his boyfriend during sex, it had to be this one, when Weston had to enforce his stance and keep his guard up.

How were people supposed to, when they were having sex with someone else? Weston had no idea.

He decided not to say anything, and cleaned himself up, put his clothes back until it felt he had found his pride back. Clothes were armor, and to have them off implied more vulnerability than Weston should feel comfortable shedding in front of this man, when his mind wasn’t.

He was about to knock, calling Milan to go back to his bed, when something made him stay and turn around. Edmund had rebuttoned himself, and had stood up as soon as Weston had started get dressed.

He would enforce his stance. He wouldn’t back off, he would be heard and listened to, too. “Is it really something that gets you off?” he asked, letting his puzzlement transpire in his voice, once the other had glanced at him.

“Why are you sounding so surprised?”

Why, indeed. It wasn’t as if Weston expected love words from that guy but… a little bit of respect would be nice, too, at least from time to time. He may need to see Weston burning with humiliation to get off, but it wasn’t Weston’s case. Not at all.

“Doesn’t really add well with a guy who’s got frigging Romeo and Juliet in his book collection.” Weston jerked his chin toward the displayed bookshelf, where that book – that looked well-read, beyond that, as far as Weston could see, more than any other – was lined up amongst other of the same genre. Shakespeare, Austen, Byron, Brontë, all names Weston had happily discarded as soon as he had gotten out of high school, alternated with some from authors Weston had never known of.

He knew he had shot straight and reminded the other things would have to change, from now on, when his eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped, “How do you-” before he snapped his lips tight and huffed through his nose. “Nevermind. Stop snooping around, pretty boy. I-”

“It’s literally on display on your wall.”

“It’s… it’s a gift. From… my brother. As a joke.”

Right. Like he’d ever believe that. Weston allowed his lips to curl up until Edmund noticed.

“What does it matter to you, anyway?”

“It doesn’t. I don’t care.” He shrugged. “Just seems at the other extreme from what’s happening here.”

Edmund scoffed. “Those are love stories,” he gritted out, as if Weston needed the reminder. “They don’t concern you. I’m bored, just like everyone else here, and that means I’m only searching for the nicest distraction. Nothing else. And so it means reading books. And so it means fucking you.”

“Not any books, though.”

“Fuck off.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here comes the smut, and the feelings - maybe. A tiny bit. Not much else. I swear.  
> We're sinking deeper and deeper, ladies and gentlemen!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Another moan was pulled out of Weston’s lips as Edmund pushed forward once more, filling the space inside of him that had started to feel empty, even though the other’s rhythm was quick, quicker than he had accustomed Weston to, from the very beginning.

The movement allowed for the head of his cock to brush against the soft blankets under him, sending a shiver across his body and another moan, softer, sweeter, past his lips. His hands scrambled underneath him, struggling to both support his weight and bunch the material in his fists, clinging and clenching at it, anchoring it to the present and not letting his mind be swept away by pleasure.

Another thrust, another moan, heat coiling tighter in Weston’s belly.

“Like that, pretty boy?” Edmund rasped, giving another thrust, more powerful this time, that sent him forward. “‘Course you do. You love it.” He did. He did, Weston did. Once everything would be over, he knew he would deny it, or shrug it off, be quick to discard it aside, this and all the feelings those words were awakening in him, but for now none of that mattered.

None of what wasn’t Edmund’s hands, one on his hip, keeping Weston’s body from leaving too far every time, and the other on his thigh, just _because_ , both burning his skin as hot as a brand.

Or the sound of his loud breathing, echoing Weston’s pounding heart.

Or the way a grunt or a moan would escape him when Weston would clench down on his cock slamming back inside of him, always seemingly despite his best will, if Weston judged by the vindictive thrust that never failed to follow suite. The one that cut off his breath and had him almost see stars every single time it happened. None of those which were a good idea to convince him to stop.

Or Edmund’s scent, that Weston could smell better there, his face almost half pressed against the same mattress the other slept in. This, with the added feeling of soft, plush surface his knees sank in and that grazed his cock once in a while, was making Weston dizzy.

He was sure he could even taste him, still, even thought it had been a couple of days since he didn’t have his cock inside his mouth.

His cock. The same cock being pushed inside him, sending a shock, same shock Weston still struggled to expect and assume, same shock remaining a surprise, a relief when Weston felt it, again and again and again. A hotness that breached him, and which Weston could sense up to his belly.

“Touch yourself,” he said, then. “I want you to come now.”

His moan turned high-pitched, and not because of another powerful shove. The other didn’t miss it, and slowed down his thrusts until all Weston could do was clench on the head of his cock, that he had mercifully, contrary to that demand he just made, left inside him, making Weston’s nose scrunch more and his lips turn into a pout.

Were his brain not being rammed into mush, Weston would have spared a thought to be glad the other couldn’t see _that_.

“Now what’s that I hear?”

Weston’s face warmed up and he squirmed, half wanting to bury himself deeper into the mattress and press back against that not-even-half-inside gorgeous dick.

He wasn’t complaining, but he couldn’t help either the pang of disappointment he felt within his chest. He wanted to come, of course he did, it was just that… that…

Well, sometimes Edmund would be the one who’d touch him to climax. And it was awful, don’t get Weston wrong, pure torture, and the other would relish in it, in his whines and his squirming as he would barely touch at first, and so lightly it was laughable – or would be, for anyone not in Weston’s shoes. Teasing and edging but never properly giving.

It was evident what he was waiting for, in those moments, but Weston’s lips were sealed shut.

When Edmund would finally accept Weston wouldn’t beg this time – ever – and griped his cock properly, still moving his hand way too slow at first, all his plight became worth it, though. For a split second.

More often than not, however, this all happened _after_ Edmund himself had come.

When it didn’t, when it happened like now, apparently, this was the actual worst, Weston thought. Because the other would wait, wait for him to come when his cock would still be iron hard and hot in his ass, and then it would _continue_.

Weston shuddered.

Even before he would have stopped to come, sometimes, Edmund would start fucking him again, enjoying the way every muscle in his body tightened and trembled with his orgasm. And the other would be merciless, fucking him and thrusting hard and fast as Weston’s sanity all but flew away from him.

The sensation of pleasure abating, but coupled by more, unexpected, unneeded one coming from within. Fuck what was it Weston had called it again? Ah yes, torture. Pure, merciless torture. It always ended with him trembling, shivering from oversensitivity, his eyes brimming with tears and his breath jerky, and he was sure this time would be no different.

“Do you have something to say, pretty boy?” Edmund said, next, when Weston didn’t move. “Do you not want to come at all? Or perhaps you’d like to work more for it? Perhaps you feel you’ve not earned it just now, hm?”

“You know what…” he whined, making his point, nonetheless.

“Aye, I know. You won’t beg. Well I didn’t tell you to beg, I told you to make yourself come. That should be answered with a bit more gratitude, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” Weston’s shoulders sagged. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

There was no way to win, anyway, Weston thought as he shakily lifted his hand – which was still holding him mostly upright – to trail it to his own throbbing dick. Edmund waited for a couple of strokes, Weston imagined him checking he wasn’t doing half the work only and swallowed back another moan as his toes curled, before he began to move again, once Weston’s hand had found its usual rough and fast rhythm and it would be impossible for him to stop until he came.

His orgasm built fast, faster with the cock moving inside him, and even more when the other started to babble, though that may only be because Weston’s hand had quickened its pace around that time.

That voice should be illegal, he thought, just before it finally proved too much – despite his gut knowing that too much, true too much, wasn’t for just yet but was certainly coming – and his eyes screwed shut of their own volition, his toes curling and Weston muffled his moans against the mattress, as warm come spilled across his fingers, making the slide even smoother and easier and daring him to continue.

“Fucking hell,” he rasped as, as anticipated, Edmund’s thrusts didn’t slow down for even a single second, sending him crumbling down as his arm could no longer bear the weight of his entire body, numbed from a shivering-good orgasm.

The sounds that spilled past Weston’s lips, then, coming directly from the deepest pit of his gut with each time Edmund’s hips slapped against his buttocks, had nothing in common with moans. It was guttural, his body’s only reaction at being pinned, unable to escape being fucked even if he wanted to.

Which… Weston did of course. The sensations had begun to cross that thin line between pure pleasure and a strange, not painful but overwhelming one, and were more confusing than anything, as his mind slowly came back to the living side.

His toes were curled, his back tense, every muscle tightening, and Weston was yanked between wanting to press back or forward, closer or away. Between the mattress and his soggy stomach, his cock laid, untouched and still tingling with pleasure, twitching with each drag his body made forward. Another whine came to Weston’s ears, though it took a couple of seconds to understand it was his own.

Behind him, Edmund’s hips were starting to falter, each push and pull coming closer. His weight leaned more and more forward, resting more over Weston’s back than on the other’s knees – despite them being on a soft surface, and not on the hard floor.

“What about that, pretty boy?” Edmund whispered, his face suddenly much closer than Weston had imagined, his loud, moist breaths hitting the side of Weston’s neck. If Weston was feeling more aware of his surroundings, he would have sworn the other was lightly nosing at the thin hair there, but surely that was just his fucked-out mind. “Convinced, now?”

The question brought a bark of laughter out of Weston’s throat, that died almost instantly when Edmund’s teeth closed around a patch of skin there. Weston’s hips bucked against the mattress as Edmund’s did the same, then stilled as warmth filled him, and both their groans seemed to answer each other.

They remained unmoving, trying to catch his breath for Edmund and enjoying the feeling of laying down, arms and legs spread, in a proper bed for him, until the other crawled backward, muttering, “Get up, pretty boy. Don’t spread your sweat around in my bed,” effectively shattering the peace and quiet Weston was enjoying.

Just to prove a point, he rolled to his back and sighed loudly, cracking one eye open to Edmund who had already rebuttoned himself and was wetting the spare towel. It was his only warning before the other flung it in his face, making him groan.

“Come on. Clean yourself, dress up and help me with the sheets.”

Weston huffed and mourned the comfortable bed under his back and head before he slowly stood up, peeling the wet cloth from his face. “Sir, yes, sir!”

Helping the other with the sheets actually consisted of undoing and remaking his bed for him more than anything, “It’s your come, pretty boy. That’s the least you can do,” but Weston didn’t mind having something to do. Not that anything here could make him think of home but… Well, changing sheets had a comforting effect on his brain, not as good as cuddles and after-love kisses, but it was its own perk.

“So,” Edmund said, leaning his side against the door and crossing his arms, “are you?”

“What, convinced?” The other nodded, and Weston chuckled, his brows raising. “All that, that was just to make your point?”

The strangest thing had happened, those last days, and – even stranger – kept happening. Weston gathered it was a natural reaction to the utter boringness their lives were, locked there. It had begun on that first evening, after their arrangement had resumed though with a few changes, albeit that had been its primitive shape. That first evening, it had been him, who had talked about the books the other had, as a half-warning at first, without any expectation of being replied to.

The following evening, it had been Edmund. Weston didn’t really remember what the comment had been about, exactly, but he had answered it. He had answered it, and they had begun to talk.

About nothing important, of course, nor personal. Not at all. Only statements, vague opinions on the vaguest subjects there were. Ethical issues over anything at all – which had been surprising to talk about, with a murderer who counted as his friend a second-in-command in the mafia – peace, human minds, historical figures, value of traditions – Weston had been particularly adamant for that one, despite his best intentions – politics, the implication of sports, society.

Love. Weirdly, this one was the subject that came back the most, despite their efforts not to.

Anything that wasn’t the slightest bit relevant of anything concerning both their privacy, personal lives, friends, and families. Conversations completely disconnected from who they were, while still being interesting enough to make time fly.

And interesting they were. To be true, at first, Weston had been baffled at the pedantic subjects Edmund kept referring back to, sometimes even quoting people like he was a living book of philosophy or some shit like that, before he had truly dived in the distraction and started giving as good as he got.

It was nice. Funny, even, to see that otherwise so aloof and intimidating man ponder and discourse, eyes shining as avidly as a little kid in a game of football.

Fuck, it was something Weston had missed. Something he hadn’t fully realized how much it lacked from his life, just simple, plain talk without any insults.

Edmund raised his chin slightly higher. “What else?”

“What else, indeed?” Weston muttered, before shaking his head. “That’s different.” And he didn’t believe he needed to point it out to Edmund, of all people, who was always the more alert and wary, out of the two of them, when talk of feelings were concerned.

For this particular point, however, no caution was held on Edmund’s part, and he came back to argue it again and again, always with a lively, burning heat in his eyes Weston didn’t know for him, not even when they fucked.

It was utterly baffling.

“That’s not. Think of this as a sample, if you prefer. Listen,” he sighed, “you yourself said that you have a boyfriend-”

“That’s my point!” Weston retorted. “You don’t chose a partner over something as trivial as passion!”

“Passion’s not trivial at all. It’s the foundation on which everything is built, after.”

And something the other was actually building all his expectations on, Weston had discovered through several past discussions. He was waiting for it, for that great passion that’d highlight one experience amongst every other.

That one which, according to Weston, didn’t exist.

“It’s not. Life’s not one of your books.”

They had already spent the previous evening on that subject, arguing back and forth until Milan had knocked himself on the door to check Edmund hadn’t actually murdered him, which had cut Edmund off in the middle of his point.

They had exchanged a few sentences here and there, muttered during lunch and dinner, and when Weston had stopped by the gym for his dose of five-percent-more naked Edmund. The other had ended dinner with a, “I’ll sway you over,” Weston had dismissed, but apparently a bit too quickly.

“I’m well-aware of that, thank you, pretty boy.” Weston smiled. Only when the other was becoming annoyed with him did he call him that, during those conversations. Though, at the same, it annoyed Weston as well, to have the proof Edmund knew how much he hated that nickname, and that still used it all the time, almost like he considered it to be his name.

Weston didn’t know which was worse – the stronghold of anonymity or the relief of gaining back a little bit of his humanity.

“My relationship with my boyfriend is not build on passion,” he pointed out, quickly, not wanting to linger on a subject that wasn’t at all part of the unspoken agreement they had. A subject that was completely too personal for Weston’s comfort. “Passion doesn’t last, it’s just a reaction. Just a spur of the moment thing. Trivial, like I said. Fickle. Weak.”

“Love is a passion. The greatest passion there is, with hate, perhaps.” Weston rolled his eyes. Hate didn’t exist – anger, condescension, resentment, fear and pride did, but not hate. Nobody hated anybody, it was just an excuse some people used to justify their own actions. But they had already discussed that. “How can it be lasting if it doesn’t leave an impression? That’s what you’re talking about. You’re talking about love being a result.”

Weston thought about his family, and his first instinct was to deny. But they weren’t talking about familial love, or even friendship. His mind went to his boyfriend, then, and he breathed deeply, the love he was feeling for him spreading in his chest.

“I’m talking that love’s a comfort. A sensation of calm and safety and… and comfort,” he truly couldn’t think of a better word.

“That’s awfully dull.”

“It’s not.” It was safe, and sweet, easy, and gentle. Weston missed his boyfriend. Missed those feelings as well as the one of being loved, cared for and treasured, unselfishly. “It’s lasting. Solid. It’s a sharing of ideas and values that two people have in common.”

“In that case, what makes those people chose each other? What brings them together, what makes them shift from friendship to being a couple? Because what you just described is friendship, or brotherhood, it’s a feeling of familiarity that’s only born from habit and a cold, disinterested decision to start fucking.”

“A kindred spirit,” Weston said, before gulping and, in a lower voice, add, “And, sometimes, people don’t need to notice anything. There’s a single choice, and it’s evident.”

Edmund scoffed and eyed him dubiously. Somewhere during the following minutes, as they were talking, they both moved on the bed, Weston sitting at the bottom of it, and Edmund laying down, his back against the wall and his feet dangling not far from Weston’s lap. “Don’t say you’ve had a boyfriend but that you were a virgin by the time you came here, pretty boy. I won’t believe that, not with a face like yours.”

Especially with a face like mine, Weston retorted, his lips pressing together in a bitter expression. “No, I wasn’t a virgin. But that doesn’t mean I have a string of past lovers behind me that I had to choose from, when I decided I’d wanted to be a couple.”

Snorting, Edmund shuffled closer, until he was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed. “I don’t believe that.”

“You should. But don’t. I don’t really care.”

“You’re pretty and-”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Weston muttered.

“Guys must have noticed it.”

“Oh they did, don’t worry about that.”

“See, my point exactly. When you picked the boyfriend, you had to choose-”

“Very easily. I never fucked any of them.”

“Never?”

Weston shook his head, flickering his gaze to the wall in front of him, instead of Edmund.

“Why?”

“Because there was nothing I wanted less than to fuck them.”

“How did you survive your teenage years, then? Or did you meet the boyfriend there? Is it some childhood love story? That’d explain the start.”

“I met him two years ago.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. For all I know, two years ago, you were still in high school.” Weston’s nose scrunched. He didn’t look that young. “How old are you?” he pressed, looking, though Weston couldn’t figure out why, weirdly interested in the answer.

Well, he could have a guess at the reason but… “That’s a little bit late for you to worry about that, isn’t it?”

It was Edmund’s nose turn to scrunch. He scowled, his mouth twisted in a disgusted grimace, seemingly unseeing Weston’s smirk at his reaction. “Tell, then. You can’t be that younger than I am.”

“Maybe I’m in fact older,” Weston protested, finally tearing his eyes from the wall for good to turn them back to Edmund. A much more alluring sight. “Haven’t you ever heard that it’s rude, to pry for someone’s age?” The other’s mouth tugged up into a smirk. “I’m twenty-five.”

The shock passing through Edmund’s eyes, spreading to his entire face made Weston’s back straighten, before his brows furrowed when the other started sniggering. “Ah, you naïve, gullible little thing. It’s twenty-seven for me. See, I’m the older one.”

“How childish are you, exactly?” Weston muttered, rolling his eyes and turning the other way, feeling the other shuffle closer even, ignoring Weston’s remark.

“And it’s not rude to ask in this case. Or do you prefer to be considered as a girl, pretty boy? Is that it? Then, me asking would be rude, I’d agree.”

Weston tensed when he felt fingers sneaking under his pajamas, first to stroke teasingly a random pattern at the bottom of his back, and then to dip under Weston’s pants, the entire hand moving them down until he could half grab an ass cheek.

“What do you think you’re doing, exactly?” he hissed, throwing a glare he hoped was more furious than shocked.

“Thought you’d take the hint quicker than this, princess.”

Which… oh hell no. “You- really?” Weston spluttered as his face flared up. “That’s what it takes you? What are you, a teenager?”

“Don’t worry your pretty head too much, it’s not only your doing. I’ve been thinking of this constantly, and I wanted to fuck you again tonight, anyway. Lift up, baby girl.”

Despite the protest that he was certainly neither of those two things that Weston bit back before he could speak it aloud, despite the burning patches on his cheeks and despite a hundred other reasons he was sure he had, Weston complied, inhaling sharply when he felt Edmund’s fingers losing no time and sliding down his crack. He pressed two of them against his hole, and Weston hissed again, though not from the same sensation.

“You’re still loose enough,” Edmund said, his tone pleased and darker to Weston’s ear, like melting honey. “I bet you wouldn’t even need prep.”

He dipped the tip of one finger past his entrance, illustrating his words and making Weston’s breath catch in his chest. The burning feeling was there, it was unmistakable, but there was no hurt. Just a slight discomfort, not different from when the stretch moved from a couple of fingers to something a bit more substantial. Vastly different, however, from that time Weston’s boyfriend had pushed inside without any warning and too little of lube. This, at least, felt pleasant, and as he pressed back, letting himself fall down slightly and the finger entered him to the first knuckle, the little sparks of pleasure in his body didn’t abate.

“Feel how easy it is? You’re already asking for more, you greedy thing. It didn’t even look like it hurt.” Weston shook his head, biting his lip to prevent a whine from escaping when Edmund’s single fingertip pulled out. “Yes, I bet I could just turn you over and bury my cock in you and you’d take it without trouble.”

Still, a single knuckle wasn’t anything like Edmund’s dick. Weston’s eyes fluttered open and he gulped, his voice unsure. “I-”

“Shh, there’s no need to play coy. Even girls need some help, especially when they’re nervous.” Weston’s body relaxed when he saw the other reach for the lube. “I’ll fuck you good, princess, don’t worry. Now turn over and lose those pants for me, will you.”

Mumbling something inaudible even to his own ears, a string of senseless syllables, Weston shimmied out of his pants for the second time in the evening, the thought sending a rush of dizziness to his mind as his cock easily filled with blood, contrary to what he might have expected. Then, he rushed to his hands and knees, on the mattress, letting out an appreciative moan when the other immediately started fingering him.

The muscles were still loose, as Edmund had said, yet enough time had passed for the oversensitivity to fade to a vague, background reminder. The only loosening-purpose of the preparation had, as well, which allowed him to enjoy as Edmund checked, rather than readied.

“Can’t say I’m complaining my girl is regularly going commando, but you know what’d look really good on you? Panties.”

Weston gasped, heat shooting to his groin, pressing his face in the mattress, just under his hands that were tightly clasped together, and murmured, “No way,” as Edmund pulled his fingers out. The string of grumbled protests which followed faded into murmurs that definitely sounded too approving for his own good.

“Red. Or icy blue,” he said, his hand coming to Weston’s front and wrapping around his cock, stroking a couple of times, enough for him to harden fully, as if he hadn’t come probably less than an hour ago. Weston preferred not to think about that. “Like that idea, don’t you, princess? Do you, by any chance, have a pair or two hidden somewhere, here?” Weston’s stomach squirmed in itself as he shook his head, both at the question and at the picture it created behind his eyelids. “All in lace. No? Pity. Fuck, you’d have looked so pretty, with frills and ribbons and all that crap. My pretty girl.”

On those words, Edmund entered him, and Weston swore the moan he let out was because of that, and not because of anything else. He didn’t even know what it would feel like, or look like, _frills ribbons and all that crap_. Weird, he thought. He would look ridiculous, he was sure, and Edmund would laugh at him rather than find it hot.

The slow drag seemed to last for an eternity, until the other finally bottomed out, and let out a gasp Weston felt till the tip of his fingers. “Yes. Moaning pretty for me, too. You like to pretend you’re totally against the idea, but if you could see you, and hear yourself.” Weston’s heart skipped a beat at the thought and he shook his head again, making Edmund chuckle. “You’re a very poor actor, pretty-hmm-princess, and I can’t even see most of your face right now.”

Their hips quickly found a rhythm, quicker and more urgent than the one they had followed for their first round of the night, as if Edmund’s fantasy had become theirs and real and was working him up. And Weston… well Weston loved the fucking. Weston… Weston…

His body shook in what appeared as a sob as he whined. “Blue,” he mumbled, taking advantage of Edmund’s hips stopping momentarily to gather his senses – what the hell was he doing? But this was just for fantasy, for the fun only, it didn’t mean anything – and babble, “an’ st’ckin’s. Stockings.”

The following thrusts had a sense of repayment, a sense of victory that washed over them both. “Stockings as well, of course,” Edmund chuckled. “Get my pretty boy all dolled up. I’d fuck you hard first, fill you up and then plug you so you’d stay ready for me. Then, you’d go put on those panties, and the stockings too, and anything else you’d want. Some lipstick, too, fuck I’d love to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock with a bit of lipstick. You’d look great. I’d let you suck on me for a couple of minutes, and then I’d turn you around and fuck you properly ‘till I’ll come.”

Large hands moved up his back, leaving a burning trail in their path and Weston’s arms buckled as a particular thrust had his vision turn white.

“Oh, now we’re going to have some fun,” Edmund said before he moved his hands down to Weston’s hips, his nails slightly scratching the skin in the way, and held them firmly in place. “Stroke yourself, baby girl, make yourself come. Warn me first, though, don’t want you to make a mess, alright?”

Weston nodded, moving his hand to wrap around his cock and start to jerk himself off, only to whine loudly when Edmund started to move again, though this time with an almost cruel accuracy, aiming for his prostate with every snap of his hips.

It didn’t take long for Weston to feel the tale-tell signs of his orgasm happening, and it took him a couple of seconds more to remember to slow down his hand and sputter, “I- ‘t’s-”

Thankfully, his mumbling seemed to be comprehensible enough for the other. Edmund’s hand moved to the head of his dick, his thumb playing with the skin there for two short back and forth until Weston shuddered, and he was coming.

He let out a long, shaky groan as he felt his cock throb and spill, the heat spreading in his entire body and fueled by Edmund’s own cock still moving inside him, still hitting his prostate, until Weston felt he was going to burst into flames, right there, right now.

With his hammering heart making it difficult to breathe properly, Weston managed to open his eyes, eyes he hadn’t noticed he had screwed shut when the pleasure had turned blinding. His brain was still trying to process the past minute had truly happened, that past minute when he had lived through the best orgasm of his life, hands down.

Edmund lifted his come-covered hand, which he had used to _not to make a mess_ , and brought it before his face. “Clean me up, princess. There,” he added, his voice smiling as his hips stopped their movement, staying snug, dick buried and twitching against Weston’s walls as he licked his own come – fuck, fuckity, fuck – off his hand, taking care not to spill it on the new sheets. “Not too tired yet, I hope.” He brought his now spit-clean hand back to Weston’s hip before adding, “I’ll have one more out of you tonight.”

What?

Frowning, Weston opened his mouth, but Edmund had already started to move again, his first thrust as hard and precise as the previous ones, making Weston’s entire body jolt, from the same intensity of pleasure being shot through his veins, but not as welcomed as it was seconds ago. It took a couple of tries to finally rasp out the, “Wait, wait, I can’t, I-”

“You can,” Edmund said, his voice so confident and hoarse and calm it made Weston want to scream. How could he sound like that, fucking him and talking about making him come a third time in- That wasn’t physically possible, there was no way Weston could- “I know you can. Horny girls like you can come once, twice, three, four or five times in one night, as many times as they need. That’s the advantage of being a pretty girl, like you are. You’re not going to be shy again, hm? You’re going to come for me once again, hm?”

A pitiful whine tore itself from Weston’s gut as he felt his dick twitch anew, filling with blood, and his balls grew tight as the other’s hand, slick with another gush of lube, prodded and caressed them before moving to his length and starting to stroke, more slowly than the regular pounding his prostate was receiving.

It hurt. It hurt and it felt so good, and Weston didn’t know what to think. Didn’t know what to do except press his ass backward, rolling it with what felt like the last remnants of his strength, following Edmund’s movements, and wanting to feel him closer, deeper, harder.

More, Weston wanted more – one time hadn’t been enough, two times weren’t either, perhaps three would.

Perhaps three would mean this thirst would quell, this hunger that was eating at him those past weeks, this overwhelming impatience to be the evening every morning. To see Edmund and smell him and touch him and fuck him, and come so hard doing so Weston was half persuaded a little bit of his sanity left his body every time. All those things Weston didn’t like to think about. All those things he hoped would go away.

Perhaps they would.

Perhaps he just needed to get it out of his body, jerked, wrenched away from him. Orgasm by orgasm.

Weston nodded.

“Say it, pretty boy,” Edmund said, before he crumbled on top of Weston’s back, his hips turning more frantic, his breathing harsher and his hand’s grip tighter. “I want to hear you say it.”

“E-sir, yes.” Weston keened when the other’s mouth and teeth found the spot he had bitten at, earlier. “I will. I want to, sir, I will.”

“Yes, you will,” Edmund grunted in his ear, and Weston’s entire body tensed as pleasure and overwhelming too much washed over him. His cock spurted a thin drizzle of come that Edmund’s hand scooped nonetheless around the same time another gush of warmth filled his insides.

Moaning, Weston’s body relaxed as if Edmund had flipped a switch and he felt himself fall down on the bed, his head cushioned by Edmund’s arm.

“There, that’s my girl. Told you you’d like it, didn’t I?” He didn’t have enough strength left in his body to nod or roll his eyes, nor to form a coherent thought. His skin was buzzing with contentment, and he finally felt, well, satiated. “That’s definitely something we’ll do again, pretty boy.” Edmund’s whispered words were lulling him, almost to sleep, but he still opened his mouth when the other presented his fingers, sucking his come off them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like this new chapter!

This time, too, Weston didn’t hesitate before composing his boyfriend’s number, instead of Sarah’s. He tried not to call his family too often, as he had first promised himself he wouldn’t call them at all, as they were supposed not to know he was locked up in prison, and Weston knew the more calls he would make, the better chance he would have to let his guard down and spill something that’d only make them worry about him.

Those five minutes, in the phone booths, weren’t a moment to keep his guard up, he felt. Else he’d explode.

James picked up on the fifth ring, his greeting small and shaky even despite the buzzy sound of bad communication. Infusing as much cheerfulness in his as was possible, Weston tried to lift his spirits up while not mentioning the reason why his boyfriend sounded so sad every time he spoke to him.

Mainly, that meant not bring up the prison nor anything related to it.

Which suited Weston perfectly fine.

“What about you? Tell me about your days. How is it, working for the Duke? Are you working for him already?”

“I, um, yes. Yes, I helped him with some work last Friday night, actually.” Weston’s lips stretched into a smile at that. From James’ voice, it sounded like it had gone well. “He’s a scary guy, drives a hard bargain, tough but fair. Around forty. Always wears a hat. I’m pretty sure he noticed me, and he told me how great the work was.”

“That’s wonderful, Jimmy.” He was glad his boyfriend’s life seemed to work for him. “I can’t wait to see you again.”

“You sound happy.”

The remark caught him off guard, and for a moment, all Weston could do was stare at the blurry form in front of him, supposed to be his own reflection in the thick glass, his mouth slightly dropped. For his boyfriend had never remarked on anything during their conversations, save for the occasional wobbly apology.

“I am…” What was he, indeed? Happy wouldn’t be the word he’d use, but it was certain his life had greatly improved since the day he had arrived here. “Content, I suppose. I’ve gotten my bearings in order.”

“No one… no one’s menaced you, right?”

“No. I haven’t even had the need to use my ace yet, you see.” Weston chuckled lightly, though it sounded a bit too strained for his comfort. Not the ace he had preciously kept at hand, yes, but he had to bend over and get fucked. Though he supposed _had to_ was perhaps a bit too strong an expression, especially if he remembered what had happened the previous night.

The memory was enough to have him shuffle his weight from one foot to another, despite his ass not being in contact with anything at the moment. Edmund’s fancies had left him sleeping so late this morning he had missed breakfast, and the grimace he had made during lunch, when he had to sat down on the not-at-all comfortable chairs for around twenty minutes, had been a real one, this time. Though no one had sniggered on it.

No one had probably noticed at all, he amended to himself. Poor actor, my ass. Weston was a wonderful actor, and had the best poker face in the neighborhood – with perhaps Edmund in a close tie, but the other was cheating obviously.

Yet the grogginess had disappeared after he had finally eaten a bit, sneaking some snack out of the kitchen, and Weston had felt like he was skipping from cloud to cloud for the past hours.

“Don’t worry about that, I’ve got it all under control,” he added, trying to reassure and comfort his boyfriend.

If I give you some, then you’ll do the same for me…

“Great. I’m relieved you didn’t need to do that. I miss you so much, Weston, and I love you so, so much too.”

The small smile he had been sporting was wiped off his features faster than a slap when he heard his boyfriend’s adamant tone, when for the past dozen calls it had been a pain to get them out of him. And now, of all the days…

The fingers of his free hand lifted to the bruise he had, at the top of his trapezius muscle. Gulping, he felt guilt swarm to his stomach.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice the one wobbling this time.

“And I’m sorry about this. I’m counting the days ‘till I see you again, and I can’t wait. I can’t wait, Weston, I need you here with me, I miss you.”

“I know. We knew it’d be hard, though. But it’ll be fine. And soon, I’ll be home. Don’t cry, Jimmy, please don’t cry.”

James was already sobbing and sniffling in his ear, and Weston felt helpless, unable to hold his boyfriend, to soothe him like he wanted to, as his own eyes started to burn with tears, too. “It will yes. I’ll make it up to you, love, I swear. When you’ll be back, our lives will be so much better than they used to be, you’ll see, you’ll be happy and-”

“We both will,” Weston gently corrected. “And I know all that. I know you’re working hard, but you can… you… don’t forget you can rest, too, alright?” Damn, he hadn’t expected the words to be so difficult to say. “There’s nothing you have to make up to me, alright? Absolutely nothing.”

“Okay.” James sniffled again, but at least it didn’t sound as if the last thing Weston’d hear from his boyfriend for the next couple of days would be him crying. “Okay, you’re right. I’ll let myself rest, take a step back.”

Not for too long, though.

Weston bit his tongue to prevent the words from anchoring themselves in his brain, thankfully the sound of them drowning by the loud bang signaling the last minute of communication starting.

“Yes,” he said, instead. “Do that. Take care of yourself while I’m not here, and be careful. I have to go, now. When will I be able to call you?”

As his boyfriend had started to work more often on missions the Duke gave him, there had been times Weston had called him and he hadn’t been there to answer. Weston preferred now to know in advance, and act accordingly, instead of taking someone’s else space and feel stupid leaving a voicemail.

“Probably not before a week. There’s a, um, I’m not really supposed to tell anyone as none is sure yet…”

“Of course. I understand, you don’t have to say anything. I’ll call you next week, then. I love you.”

“Me-”

The communication cut before James could finish his sentence, and Weston closed his eyes and sighed longingly. He had learnt to not resent that fact anymore. It was as if James had and, if Weston concentrated really hard, he could hear the “I love you” whispered in his ear. The voice and its tone were soft and low. They warmed him as no other word ever would.

Wordlessly, he hung up the receiver and walked out, his hands buried in his pockets and his feet leading him to the gym, without Weston having to take any decision to go.

Edmund was there, like every afternoon, tirelessly hitting that punching bag, his uniform half-opened and the skin Weston could peek at glistening with sweat. Some of his curls were plastered against his forehead, the tip of them falling into his eyes before he would wipe them back with his forearm, only for them to fall back with the next hit. His gaze was intent, his aim precise as far as Weston could see, his lips parted as he panted loudly.

The sight brought a coiling heat in Weston’s belly, so strong it made him nearly stumble, despite leaning against the doorframe. No one had noticed his presence yet, and so he could enjoy the sight and whatever it was he was feeling, fueled by the regular smacks Edmund’s punches dispatched into the room. Weston’s own eyes never strayed far either.

Thus he didn’t miss the moment Edmund’s darted to his, nor the way his mouth pulled into a half smirk, as if he knew precisely what Weston had been doing. Well, it wasn’t as if he had ever wanted to keep it a secret of state, anyway. The blows never stopped nor faltered, however, quite the contrary. In any other situation – or any other day, the small part of Weston’s mind that wasn’t currently gawking at the nice sight before his eyes desperately added – he would have rolled his eyes and huffed at the obvious show off. In that precise moment, though, he only licked his lips, his eyes trailing down and then back up Edmund’s fighting stance, and shuffled lightly on his spot.

The other knew exactly what he was doing to him, there was no doubt to be had. When he glanced at Weston again, eyes crinkling and gleaming with cockiness, still smirking, Weston looked pointedly at the door, leading to the closet where the cleaning supplies and the towels were stored.

One eyebrow lifted for all answer but, when Weston walked to the closet, ignoring the deliberately avoiding looks coming from Matt, Coby and the two others guys, his stomach tightening in anticipation, the regular thudding sounds had stopped, replaced by the quiet ones of feet following him.

Edmund was the one to close the door behind the two of them, greeting, “Good afternoon, pretty boy,” and chuckling when Weston pushed him against the frame, his fists bunched in the panels of the other’s uniform.

The light flickered on and Weston swallowed heavily, looking down to the barren skin and his fingers, twitching, as his gut tightened with want, with need. To touch, to grab and bite and lick and kiss. Under his palms, through the tight cloth, he could feel the burning heat coming from Edmund’s body, but it wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t enough.

Weston needed something that would make the want inside him abate, not fuel it any more.

To imagine what would happen to him, when this would be over, when Edmund, when other guy, would leave him, those last two months, and then when he himself would be free again, and go back to his boyfriend, had turned frightening, more than coveted.

How he would manage to put an end to it all.

Weston had no idea how to.

For now, though, there was no need for him to worry about any of this. He hoped he would get it out of his system before the inevitable separation, or that seeing and touching James again would be the solution he had needed to switch those wants from Edmund to James.

His boyfriend would enjoy it, that was sure, if Weston came back to him as sex depraved as he was feeling right now.

But that last hope wasn’t an invitation for him to forget himself. It didn’t mean he could whatever until that moment, and so Weston moved his hands to the other’s fly, staying clear of any skin.

“I want to suck you off,” he said, already unfastening the offending clothes. This was okay, this was alright. Edmund laughed and Weston thought, because I want to, because James is not here, and added, “sir.”

“Far from me the idea of denying you that,” Edmund said, his fingers resting against Weston’s bottom lip, sending little shocks tingling along the skin, “greedy boy.”

Greedy, yes, but only to a limited extent. To a certain limit. He was still in charge of his own urges and wants. It was only sex, and only for a limited period, he reminded himself, slowly lowering to his knees.

He mouthed first at the other’s clothed dick, hearing Edmund’s panted breaths turn louder and allowing his hands to rest on the inside of his thighs, but above the cloth. Farther, and safer. His eyes remained up, staring right back, and his lips twitched against the stretched, damp from his kittenish licks, soft cotton. Sweaty and breathless, Edmund looked like he had just finished fucking him, and Weston shifted to balance most of his weight on his ass, resting his legs from the strain.

The dull ache sent a shot of haze to his brain, making him close his eyes, inhaling sharply.

It didn’t stay unnoticed by Edmund, of course, but the snort the other made didn’t last long when Weston finally swallowed around him and didn’t lose any more time.

He was trying to prove a point, something to both Edmund and himself, setting up an urgent pace. His eyes started to burn, from the sparse occasions he remembered to blink and the way he pushed Edmund’s cock to the back of his throat.

Urgent didn’t mean carelessly, though. Each bob of his head had the same intent, to last and linger in his memory, and to enhance Edmund’s pleasure, bring him closer and closer to his orgasm. See the veins in his throat bulge as he traced the tip of his tongue to the one on the underside of his cock as he pulled back, then fleetingly lick at the slit, moaning at the salty taste of precome, and give a light suckle on the head, hearing Edmund’s breath hitch, before he relaxed his throat to take the other’s dick back inside his mouth, until he felt it hit the mushy skin back there and Edmund’s fingers tighten in his hair.

This, again and again, enjoying the slight surprise shining in Edmund’s eyes, and then how it transformed into smugness and anticipation, as he released a loud breath, his mouth open, the sound not unlike the one he made when he came, sending a delighted shiver to Weston’s gut.

He couldn’t wait to do this with his boyfriend.

“Fucking shit, pretty boy,” he rasped a chuckle, his voice rough, “how you’re taking me. So well, so g-good.” Someone whimpered. Edmund’s eyes widened and he sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Weston’s hips bucked and he pressed the palm of his heel harder against his dick. It wasn’t for him, though. “Yeah? You’d like that? You’d like to know how you can be good for me?”

Blinking up a couple of times, Weston nodded as best as he could.

“Who’d want to hear you beg when that’s your default setting.” He thought he heard Edmund murmur, before the other raised his breathless voice. “Keep moaning pretty, and then-”

The second part was never heard, replaced by a half-bitten curse when Weston immediately obeyed, and then Edmund’s hips jerked, pushing his cock even deeper as he came.

Once he had finished licking the other’s softening cock clean and put it back into his boxers, far from his eyes and hands and weird impulse that had made him almost lay a kiss on top of it, Weston slowly raised himself on wobbly legs.

Before he had even taken a step, however, he found himself whirled around, his back against the door, a hand cupping his cock as a toned thigh slipped between his own. His head spun for more than a few reasons as he leaned it back against the frame, his lids dropping when Edmund began to speak breathy promises and detailed explanations about what was going to happen, right now and then this night, when they’d have a bit more time.

His lips were brushing against his pulse point and, when not, he licked or nibbled on his earlobe.

Weston was falling.

The sensation made his hands scramble for something to hold onto – Edmund’s shoulders, that same presence pressing against him, body solid, steady, and strong, unyielding. His breath hitched as his eyes flew open, gazing at the empty closet as his pounding heart started to pump ice through his veins, instead of heat.

No, no, no.

No, he couldn’t. This wasn’t for him – this had been just for Edmund. Not him, not now. Not when his mind was all over the place, every single thought in disarray and his heart clogging with fright.

It took him several attempts at regaining his breath before he managed to croak out a small, “Don’t.” His voice didn’t sound convinced, nor sure to his own ears, pleasure heavy and trembling, and it was no wonder Edmund only pressed himself closer. “No. No, I-I- don’t- sir.”

Somehow Edmund managed to make sense of that feeble protest and pulled back, his arms braced on either side of Weston’s body and his thigh still wonderfully pressed against his crotch, though it wasn’t moving anymore. Fuck. “What?” He had to bit back a whine, feeling his cheeks warm up. “What did you say? Because what I heard doesn’t…”

“Yes. I don’t want you to. It’s fine,” he added, watching how Edmund’s mouth fell open.

“You don’t want to come?” the _after everything_ was more than audible, and Weston nibbled at the inside of his cheek as the question pointed out how absurd the whole situation was.

Still. “Not now. This was… just for you. Tonight, yes.”

“Al…right. Fine. Less work for me, right?” Edmund’s mouth pulled into a smirk and he lifted an eyebrow.

“I strive to be considerate and please you, sir,” Weston mumbled, glad the other wasn’t insisting to pull out the real reason.

Instead, Edmund snorted and walked out of the closet, not once glancing back to him.


	11. Chapter 11

The line had blurred.

The line had blurred, and Weston had no idea how to sharpen it back, so to cross it would be as painful as stepping over razors, instead of seemingly as natural as to get back on his feet once one stumbled forward.

He didn’t know.

However – not that anyone was asking, or would ever be – he could pinpoint the exact time, the exact reason everything had gone south. As usual when the other guy was concerned, it involved sex. Of course it did. But, more precisely, it involved Weston’s own orgasms.

He knew he should never have allowed the other to make him come, during their daily meetings.

Sighing and shaking his head for the umpteenth time, Weston berated himself for making that stupid decision. For ever thinking his own pleasure couldn’t possibly mess everything that was the clear line between sexual gratification and… Not affection, because he wasn’t that dumb but… Let’s call it impatience.

Impatience wasn’t that bad to the ordinary people. After all, it was just a body, a reaction coming from his dick and not involving _anything else_. But to Weston, it was dreadful. Dreadful and frightening.

By allowing Edmund to make him come, Weston had unleashed a monster.

Ever since that night, that very same night he couldn’t think about without gulping and a flutter in his gut, the situation had truly started to slip from his tight grip.

And he loved it.

That night, when Weston had thought he would die from the overwhelming pleasure pumping into his body and straight to his brain – and rending it useless, he was sure. Fuck. Shivers never failed to erupt all across his body whenever he thought back on that night.

It wouldn’t have been that bad, Weston still thought, if it had stayed _that_ night. But it didn’t. Following his promise, Edmund had incorporated the ‘make Weston come more than what is humanely possible and fuck up his sanity at the same time’ to what Weston had started considering as their routine.

It didn’t happen every night, thankfully. A couple of times a week, however, Weston would come twice, or even three times in a single evening meeting and struggle to remind himself this wasn’t nice, that this wasn’t hot. That this was just a way the other had found to get under his skin, and make him whatever Edmund wanted to make him. Crumble, submit, whatever.

That was crystal clear.

And it worked, the monster in Weston’s chest steadily growing and settling itself into a nice corner, weighting down on his lungs and making it hard to breathe when Edmund was around, or when the walls were slightly lowered as they discussed about this or that.

Fuck, the other even managed to arouse him with a single thought – admittedly heavily associated with a couple of memories – when he wasn’t even in the same room. Weston surreptitiously shifted on his seat and crossed his legs, glancing around the yard to check no one was paying any particular kind of attention to him. They weren’t.

Was it possible to die from too much pleasure? Before he came here, Weston would have scoffed at the mere question, just like he’d have scoffed at the idea that someone could feel this good even when the fucking obviously wasn’t meant for him, but now he was genuinely concerned about the possibility. It was a shame, really, that he didn’t have access to the computer room because he was officially here for drugs. At least internet could have soothed his worry.

Because not only was Weston loving it – privately, at least this was something he could be grateful for – not only did it work, it was also _worsening_. Every single night was better, pushed him deeper, further than the precedent. Edmund and he had discovered the existence of buttons he had never known he had, and which Weston struggled on remembering weren’t meant to work for the long term.

For the now, he had given up.

Now, those past days, the other amused himself with pushing and pulling them to perfection, until Weston became a thrashing, sobbing mess with burning eyes and more pleasure than he knew what to do with. For now, Weston let him do so gladly. For now only.

The past decision that he had made with himself, to try and turn the table again at first, looked ridiculous when he thought back on it. To believe he only had to focus the other’s attention back to his own pleasure, instead of Weston’s, and all would be forgotten, had been preposterous. Conceivable, but preposterous. In the end, it hadn’t worked, and Edmund – cruelly – kept on paying attention to his pleasure and his overall enjoyment. Every. Single. Time.

Cocky fucker.

Weston wanted to complain, and at the same time, not at all. It’d be pretty stupid of him to complain when everything felt that good, and he still had some control over his reactions. When they fucked. Any other time compensated more than enough that torpor of the mind with worries and fright.

Because what if those cravings didn’t stop? What were they even saying about him?

Weston spared a few thoughts recalling what had happened on the previous night, cringing as he pictured his future self asking his boyfriend, his sweet, his in-love boyfriend, to stand in Edmund’s shoes, do what Edmund had done and say the same words he had said, and made him feel-

No, Weston thought, his heart clenching. No, it could never happen.

Berating himself, he reminded that foolish part of his brain that he wasn’t disappointed by the thought. He shouldn’t be. He shouldn’t like it so much and he didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. It was degrading, the position and the words – fuck, those words – and he didn’t like that. He liked the sweetness, the love making, the comfort and the safety, the way his boyfriend made him feel… made him feel… loved. Weston wanted to be loved, and his boyfriend was the only one who loved him the way he wanted to be loved.

No one else could do it as good as his boyfriend did. No one. That was important to remember.

His boyfriend wasn’t demanding, wasn’t cruel, didn’t push him beyond his limits, didn’t pin him to the bed – they didn’t have anything to tie him up but, with the way Edmund had towered above him, even if he had straddled his chest, it hadn’t be that necessary. Weston had stayed into place, his heart pounding, even when his neck had started to strain and ache. At the time, it had been too hot to even conceive moving away. As of now, one day later, Weston had to admit his opinion hadn’t much shifted – didn’t look at him with that mix of satisfaction and hunger.

Didn’t fuck his mouth as if he was merely using him as a warm, wet hole underneath him. Didn’t fuck his mouth at all, to be fair.

Didn’t kept on babbling the entire time, telling him how great it’d be, if he was good just now, to just tie him there and give him another load of come whenever he felt like it, or just to keep his cock warm, while commenting with an overly-pleased voice when it had proved too much for Weston, when he had finally allowed his lids to drop and break the eye-contact they kept on maintaining.

And, most importantly, didn’t pull his dick away before he’d come, didn’t chuckle at the dissatisfied whine Weston made, wouldn’t prevent him from finishing what had started by keeping him by the hair away from his cock, didn’t transform into the cruelest tease by starting to jerk off mere centimeters away from his reach and then by only giving him the head of his dick to suck on, hand moving to massage at his balls as he came, helping them empty in Weston’s mouth.

Didn’t whisper how good and hot and tight and great he felt, he was, stroking and scratching at his scalp as he watched his throat bob, and shushing the embarrassment even Weston could feel radiating out his own face, either.

And sure, it didn’t turn his brain into putty nor his insides in a torrent of molten lava, but so what. Weston didn’t need that, he added, his face flushed just from that memory. Nor did he need to hear how good he was doing, because with his boyfriend, he _already knew it_. It didn’t need to be said.

His boyfriend, who would never do any of those things of his own volition. But perhaps if he asked him… Weston nibbled on his bottom lip and squirmed once again on his spot. He didn’t have to say the entire truth. Perhaps if he said it was a porn video he had happened on, by chance, when they would both be plastered, and it had looked hot, and couldn’t they try it, pl-

No, Weston wouldn’t beg but. Still.

It was his boyfriend, he supposed he could ask nicely. Use all his charms to get James to accept – that was normal, wasn’t it? And then… and then…

No matter how much Weston tried to imagine what would happen after, but with James in Edmund’s place, he couldn’t. His mind came up blank, or conjured a figure even he knew was the other guy instead of his boyfriend.

But… that was normal too, wasn’t it?

After all, whether Weston liked it or not, Edmund was still _the one_ seeding those ideas in his head in the first place, helping them grow, bloom, thrive and take shape, into one so attractive it made Weston long to let them free and follow their path. His boyfriend had no idea, yet, about all of that, and would have to be shown briefly the ropes. That was alright, Weston could be patient, especially since the goal was this rewarding.

He would tell him how to do it, and James would comply.

Or at least, Weston hoped he would. He had no idea what he’d do with himself, if his boyfriend rejected him. If that fire within him didn’t quell.

But then again, why would James ever refuse? Like Edmund said, Weston was enthusiastic, that was the least one could say – and Weston wasn’t even imagining yet how it would be, how it would feel, with his boyfriend before him, instead of other guy. It’d be exceptional. More than mind blowing.

Furthermore, James would certainly be better at this than Edmund was. It’d be a win-win. They’d do a duplication of what had happened the previous night, Weston decided, and of everything else as well. The surprise blowjobs during the day, the mouth fucking, the edging, and the teasing, the making Weston come several times in a row, the stockings and even the panties, and all the things Edmund had mentioned in passing during sex, too, and which Weston had found himself wondering about, in private.

That was it. He only needed to focus himself on the future, on his future, the one he shared with nobody here but his boyfriend, who was waiting for him outside, yearned to embrace him and kiss him again. James’ guilt had finally disappeared, and it was on those words and on sweet promises of love they usually ended their calls, as Weston’s heart clenched and his stomach churned with something that wasn’t guilt, but that wasn’t longing either.

Their future looked bright, brighter and easier than Weston had ever known it, and that was the reason why he felt so unsure and lost and frightened, these past days. It had everything to do with the great change that loomed over him and his boyfriend, and nothing to do with the other guy.

“Good morning,” Ted said, pulling Weston out of his reflections and bringing him back to the present moment. Huffing apologetically, Weston handed the older man his empty plate. “Is something wrong? You look like you’re up in the clouds today.”

Edmund was great, and the sex and his presence were otherworldly and, yes, maybe Weston had gone farther than he had anticipated, but that didn’t mean he was completely lost. He had made a deal with himself, a sort of sub agreement only he knew of, in case things turned weird, and would stand by it.

Smiling, Weston nodded. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“Good, good. Today’s pasta by the way, with raspberry pie for dessert.”

The news made Weston’s smile widen, which didn’t escape the other’s notice. “It’s my favorite.”

“That’s what I remembered. I saved you two slices of it.” He winked. “And from the best part of it too. The others got a bit too hot.”

“Now, you’re officially my favorite, Ted.”

“I sure hope so,” the man answered, giving Weston his plate full of pasta back, as well as the promised unburnt, double portion of pie.

Chuckling, Weston thanked the other another time before he moved on, to the bread stand, and then to the lunchroom. As he walked to the – unexpectedly – empty table he usually shared with Edmund and his buddies, he spared a thought and a small smile at the way none of the fellow inmates were ogling him anymore. He didn’t know exactly the reason behind it, only hoped it was a mix between Edmund’s influence and back off face as well as Weston’s own acquaintanceships he had formed with a few of them, and not the former only.

He couldn’t say he had friends, or even companions or whatever it could be, but he nodded to several known faces, new inmates who understood he wasn’t going to either beat them up at the first perceived slight or fuck them in showers, or older, more experienced ones who had found his encounter with Gordon – or, more precisely, the encounter his fist had made with the other’s mug – at the very least amusing enough to come talk to him.

Once they had done that, it had been more than easy for Weston to make them stay and consider him an ally of sort, instead of something to be completely disregarded. He was good for these kinds of things, one just needed to see what happened with Edmund for proof. Despite the predicament it had put him in, Weston couldn’t deny the other and his relationship had improved immensely compared to the very first days.

Not that he found himself liking – or even worse – the other in any way, nor consider him anything than a great- a fine- an enjoyable fuck. He still hated him, yes, a lot.

But, let it only be said that the want to jump at the other’s throat had receded in favor of other sorts of wants, sorts Weston had already spend his morning thinking of and didn’t want to resume. Especially in such a crowded place, and especially when the main concerned was currently walking toward their table.

“What were you guys doing?” Weston asked once the four men sat down, immediately beginning to devour the meal in front of him, not waiting for any of them to start with him. “The table was empty, ‘t was weird. I thought you were already gone.”

“I can see that,” Edmund answered curtly, without answering anything at all, and Weston’s face turned to him, his brows lifting. But the other only clenched his jaw, and his eyes were glaring at Weston’s tray. To his pies, in particular.

Which… no way. “They’re mine,” Weston said, pulling the crammed slices of pie closer to him, out of reach of the four goons sitting before him and glancing suspiciously at each of them.

Edmund shifted his glare to him, but he didn’t care. He got the other must be envious – his own slice didn’t look half as mouthwatering as Weston’s – but one didn’t joke with food. Weston had won those, by the sweat of his brow and, mainly, by his cheerful greetings and thanks and smiles twice a day compared to the barely acknowledgeable grunts the other inmates made at the lunchroom staff, when they didn’t blatantly threaten or ignore them, Edmund Berry-Montague first in line, Weston was sure. He deserved that treat.

“There was something needing to be taken care of,” Thomas finally explained. “A problem with the laundry.”

Nodding, Weston stuffed his mouth with another fork of pasta, preventing himself at the same time from snorting.

The buddies and Edmund, who they always called ‘boss’ which was both the funniest thing ever because come on, they weren’t in the Green Mile – wonderful movie, Weston had had a crush on both Tom Hanks and Michael Duncan – because who couldn’t, that man was an angel – from his eleven years old to his twenty-three years old self, and the most spine-chilling too because murder, sometimes used phrases Weston was sure were codenames for other things.

As far as Weston could guess, this one meant some phone calls had to be done, though not in the several booths the ordinary mortals had at their disposal, no. He had realized the lie by chance – or horniness, really – when he had actually dropped by the laundry room one afternoon Edmund had warned him he wouldn’t be at the gym but settling _a problem with the laundry_ , and had found it empty of any Edmund.

He didn’t say anything about that, however, just as he hadn’t that first time, nor the couple of others. It wasn’t his business and, remembering his boyfriend saying Edmund knew his maybe praying-for-it future boss, Weston didn’t want Edmund to complain to him about some snoop he knew of, and the Duke making the relation between him and his boyfriend.

Better to eat, and enjoy the double slices which, damn, weren’t as good as to give Weston the need to damn himself – he also preferred the ones he made by himself, by far, especially the one he managed to make with fresh raspberries, and not frozen ones, once a year. But, compared to the otherwise constant poor qualities of desserts and meals there, they were good enough to be correctly appreciated.

“Unfair,” he thought he heard Matt mutter at Edmund’s right, also eyeing his slices, and probably in a hurry to change the subject, too, in case he would ask too many questions. Weston shrugged, his expression radiating smugness. It wasn’t that often one could grate on the stoic Matt’s nerves.

Whatever call they had to make, however, whatever that thing was which had needed to be taken care of, it didn’t appear to have gone swiftly. Edmund spent the rest of the meal and of the afternoon scowling, slamming fists after fists into his punching bag as if it had personally offended him, while not forgetting to throw one or two Weston’s way.

All his attempts to ease the tension clearly pulsing in the other’s shoulders and jaw turned vain however, only answered by grunts that sounded more angry than soothed, or short and curt, “Nothings,” that were the worst attempt at a lie Weston had ever had retorted to his face.

Shrugging, he ended up giving up after an hour, leaving the other to his mulling, grumpy thoughts. If Edmund didn’t want to talk, or forget whatever it was that hadn’t worked like he had wanted, then there was nothing Weston could do.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather long chapter (but necessary), so I'll leave you to it  
> Enjoy :)

It had been several weeks, now, since Weston hadn’t felt this uncertain before coming to Edmund’s room for the evening. Though his rather recent clammy hands and restless steps could have been mistaken by the outsider eye for uncertainty, Weston was more than well-aware it was absolutely not the case. Quite the opposite, actually, not that this was either better or worse.

Those signs, that appeared mainly in the presence of Edmund, until Weston managed to quiet them down or hide them well-enough, were accentuated tonight. He had never liked being in the presence of annoyed, disquieted people, when those people were ones he… well, when he cared about them.

Yes, yes, he cared about other guy. It was okay, and it didn’t mean anything. Better to acknowledge some things, to better control and suppress any urges that’d follow suite, he had decided, than having everything pour on him in the worst moment, care rooted too deep to rip out. It was normal, the care, just from one fellow human being to another – and like Weston kept repeating himself, the sex was great.

But there were boundaries, hills, gates and barricades between this and other things that would never be crossed. The line was still there, and they were both – for he remembered very clearly the flash of panic in the other’s eyes, when he had been talking about Weston’s feelings – very against crossing it, this Weston trusted almost with his life.

Besides, he wasn’t stupid enough to catch feelings for a man who despised humanity and lived surrounded by so much thorns and glaciers, with standards so high no human would ever stand as tall as to meet, let alone breach them. A thousand hearts and human warmth wouldn’t be enough to unfreeze that cold, and his own heart belonged to James.

As long as the two remained clear and distinct in Weston’s mind, and he kept in his mind the goal of their shared brighter future, and with better sex on top of it all, then everything would be fine. Easy as pie.

Milan eyed him one last time, the same furtive glance he had thrown his way since he had come to get him, brows pulled together like he was failing to solve a puzzle, before unlocking the door and stepping aside. “I’ll stay on the other side,” the guard said, head jerking to the left, to his usual waiting spot, “let me know when you’re done. And pass the hello to the boss, 14.9.2 S.”

Weston hummed noncommittally. The guard had started to use him to deliver messages of this sort – in other words, short, inconsequent ones, though he gathered Milan must have a reason, counting on the misguided belief to be upgraded to something more interesting than serving as doorman for the fuckboy.

However, he barely had the time to step inside, glance around the room and frown when he found it empty, which was unexpected to say the least, before he was pushed backward and against the closed door with an oof.

As if rising from nowhere, Edmund pressed against him, and Weston had barely the time to glance at his tense features before the other buried his face in his neck, and bit. His heart started to pound erratically as the sting was accompanied by a thigh shimmying between his own and the drag of it against his crotch, sending sparks of anticipation and pleasure along Weston’s body.

Something felt different, though, and Weston gulped as Edmund kept his face in the crook of his neck, but not to mouth and lick at the no doubt about-to bruise skin. “You’re mine,” he murmured, “pretty boy. All mine. Mine to touch, mine to fuck, and mine to have. My pretty boy.”

An unknown hand came to squeeze at Weston’s heart, the pain the words brought with them so acute it made his eyes fill with tears and he screwed them shut. This was a dangerous path, and he didn’t want to follow it. Weston remembered the deal he had made with himself and, with a shaky breath, he protested. “Don’t,” he said, his voice as shaky as his breathing and the words soft, “you can’t say that.” It was a reminder, to him also, another agreement to just forget the words were spoken or thought, and to go on their merry way.

The harsh scoff hit the skin of his neck and Weston could only blink in confusion when Edmund tore himself away from him, his face twisted in a sneer. “Oh, you’d say that, wouldn’t you, pretty boy? Of course you would. I can’t do it, I have to stay exclusive, but you don’t, right? Not when it doesn’t advantage you somehow. And then you talk about fair.”

“What?”

“Don’t. Don’t keep on the naïve facade. It doesn’t suit you, you slut.”

“Don’t call me that,” Weston retorted, feeling himself getting worked up as well, from the onslaught of fury flooding from the other. The soft tone was gone, and replaced by a warning one as he shuffled away from the door, not wanting to be trapped against anything.

Edmund noticed it and, one second later, he was crowding him back against it. This time, however, the thrill of anticipation was gone, and in its place stood confusion – because what the hell was the other on about? – and fury as well – because whatever phone call or laundry problem had gone south, it wasn’t his fault.

“I’ll call you whatever I want. And even more if that’s what you are.”

“No. And I’m not a slut,” he gritted back.

“You are.” Edmund’s hand cupped his jaw, fingers pressing against Weston’s cheeks, in a position they hadn’t found themselves since that very first night. “Always greedy, never satisfied, well that’ll change. Now go bend over there, and maybe I’ll be merciful to you.”

“Stop that,” he whispered. “I’m not. Go find yourself another punching ball. I’m not staying to be yours.”

The other didn’t seem to have heard him anyway, and had trailed his lips to Weston’s ear, sucking and then nibbling on the lobe, in a way that made him wonder for a second if it was Edmund’s idea of foreplay or something like that.

But no. The groin that was pressed against his right thigh was completely unaroused. Even talking about having him bend over a wall and get fucked, the other hadn’t shown any interest. He was just angry, and at Weston, though he had no idea why.

That last thing was what prevented him from leaving, and instead he just pushed the other away with all his strength.

“You don’t have any idea who I am, pretty boy, and what I’m capable to do to them if-”

“Edmund,” the name slipped past his lips without him even noticing it, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, so just calm down.”

“Don’t lie. Don’t tell me what to do, I don’t take orders from filthy sluts who whore themselves out for so li-”

The slap echoed in the room, unstopped this time.

In fact, the other looked almost vindicative, as if he hadn’t been the one getting slapped, but had relished in it as if he had been the one to give it. With how bad Weston’s heart hurt, maybe it was the truth. Though that felt nothing like a slap. A slap was too merciful, too sudden, and too soon gone.

“Apologize. Right now,” he ordered.

“Only the truth hurts.”

“Fuck you,” Weston rasped, feeling his eyes stinging more than he was able to contain, his vision blurring. “Fuck you,” he repeated, his shoulders shaking with a sob he didn’t fully manage to muffle down, “you fucking asshole. I told you, I have no idea what the hell you’re talking about-”

“I told you don’t lie!”

“And I told you I have no idea what you’re talking about! I don’t know how the hell you’ve come to whatever delusion you’re having there.”

“And the pie- Were they a delusion, too? I’m not going crazy, pretty boy, there were two of them in your plate. So much better than all the other.”

“I- What?”

At least the shock made the urge to cry abate, if not disappear completely. What the fuck? All of that for two stupid pies?

“Don’t take me for a fool. So tell me, who the hell did you fuck to get them? For how long?”

“You’re not a fool,” Weston spat, his mouth downturned and his nose scrunching. “You’re a disgusting jerk. And even that, that’s too nice. You’re fucked up, that’s what you are.”

That seemed to work enough for the other to bare his teeth, grit them but let out a slow breath through his nose. Then, Edmund crossed the two steps that separated them, his hand lifting to hold Weston’s shoulder. “Tell me,” he said again, though he had to admit the tone had lost most of its chilled fury. “At least tell me who they are. If you don’t- Maybe they- Did they hurt you? Force you?”

“It was just a second slice.”

“Yes. Tell me.”

Weston shook his head. “I’m not telling you anything. And,” he added, for Ted’s sake, even though the older man would never know of this, “I don’t need that, whatever you think you can offer. It’s just pies. I’m doing very well by myself.”

“I know how the world works, pre- Someone gave you that pie, it’s not for nothing. They’ll want something. If it doesn’t concern me, then it does you. And there’s not much else someone would want from you at first sight than fucking.”

“I don’t know in which twisted world you’re living in, but it’s not mine.”

“It is, too. It is.”

“It’s not.” Sorry Ted, Weston said to the unknowing man, before he continued. “He’s just my friend, someone who wanted to do something nice for me, because he knew I like raspberry pie and I’m one of the only one here who actually know how to smile.”

“It doesn’t change anything. If he didn’t push for something before giving it to you, then he’ll push for it after.”

“He won’t.” God, it was like talking to an automat. “He’s just my friend. It was just a kind gesture. That’s it.”

“He’s not. You don’t know th-”

“You think I don’t? You think I was born yesterday? You think I don’t know the difference between a man who wants to fuck me and one who’s just being nice?” Weston seethed. “You are wrong, and an asshole, and completely fucked up and-and I’m not greedy, I’m not a whore, I’m not like you. I just miss being treated with fucking respect, something you obviously wouldn’t know of if it kicked you in the face and-”

The rest of his tirade got swallowed by Edmund, who cupped the back of his head, something unrecognizable flashing through his eyes, before he tilted his head to one side and pressed his lips to Weston’s.

Time stopped. A sharp, surprised intake of breath. The feeling of his heart coming up and up in his throat. Edmund’s warm, warm tongue brushed against his bottom lip. His eyes fluttered close.

A shiver running down his spine, Weston sighed and parted his lips, his hand moving to Edmund’s arm, grasping at his clothes to keep himself from crumbling under his weight. Their lips had started moving and brushing against the other as if they had done so all their lives, with an avidity and a fervor that sent a shot of warmth to the tip of Weston’s fingers.

But no, he thought, the realization of what was happening transforming the heat in ice, as Edmund began to press forward, his thumb lightly stroking along the bone of his jaw. No, that was- that was too close of crossing the line, wasn’t it?

With a sob, Weston wrenched himself away.

“What was that?” he breathed out, his voice rasping when he had wanted it accusing. Angry. Furious. That wasn’t them, that wasn’t part of the agreement. This wasn’t what they did.

Just before his eyes, Edmund opened his own, and Weston’s breath caught in his throat. Too close, that was too close, he needed to remember, he couldn’t forget.

“I-I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry?” Fuck, that hurt. “That’s an I’m sorry?” he choked out. Pity. Just pity.

It was for the best.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, it shouldn’t hurt, why did it hurt? Why did he want to kiss him again?

Why had he kissed him?

Why?

“Yes- No. I mean, I’m sorry for what I said. You’re not a whore, and you’re not a liar. I don’t think that. I don’t,” he added, as Weston had started to shake his head, denying the words he didn’t want to hear. Edmund couldn’t apologize right now, not after kissing him.

Barriers, barricades, hills, lines – he needed to remember, he needed to recall them.

But they were crumbling, collapsing before his very eyes, and Weston stood still and did nothing to try to salvage whatever could be salvaged.

There was nothing to be salvaged.

His chin up, Weston glared at him, feeling his body fill with an uncontrollable to urge to grab and keep close, and so that was what he did.

He stopped thinking, and slid his hands to Edmund’s neck and pulled him down, their lips crashing and biting and marking, moaning as his insides rocked with fireworks’ explosions. His weight leaned forward, leaned closer, and Weston blindly stumbled further in the other’s hold, feeling hands move down to his waist and tug his pajama top up.

Yes, yes that was a good idea, he thought, humming approvingly before it became a sigh when he had to stand fully back on his own two feet the time to allow for the clothing to be removed and swiftly thrown aside. His own hands were absentmindedly tugging at Edmund’s own uniform as he used the opportunity to blurt out, “I want _you_ ,” since it appeared it was something that needed to be clarified.

Thankfully, before Weston could get embarrassed – though, truly, even his twitching dick right now should be hinting clear enough of that truth – or start thinking about what he was doing, Edmund inhaled sharply, his Adam apple bobbing before he murmured, “Come here,” tugging him back to him.

What was the use to keep that distance, after all, now that Edmund had kissed him first? This was ruined, and he better just go along with it, and enjoy whatever he had while it lasted. His eyes fluttered close as a sting teared at them.

The following minute passed in a blur, Weston’s brain leaving his head and splitting itself in two, one part moving straight to his groin to press even closer while the second veered to his hands, his breath catching lightly in his throat as Edmund’s tugged off his own uniform. Therefore, Weston’s hands had to touch, to stroke and to graze along every millimeter of skin appearing. First in the middle of his chest, following the unbuttoning and the trail of hair to Edmund’s belly button, and then free to roam, scratch and squeeze at every single bit of chest suddenly bared when the other finally took off the upper part of the uniform.

After teeth sank into his bottom lip for the last time, giving a hard suck and sending a shot of heat straight to his dick, Edmund’s mouth trailed down to his neck, licking a long stripe to the tingling part he had bitten at, earlier, before moving to suck and nibble on his pulse point.

Moaning, Weston shuffled his feet forward, one hand griping Edmund’s shoulder to prevent him from taking even one step away before it drifted to the other’s hair, while his other kept on exploring the new bare expanse of skin, replacing his eyes for the moment.

Under his fingertips, he felt the muscles of Edmund’s abdomen clench as the other answered his moan with one of his own, the sound rumbling through his chest as he moved his mouth away from his neck, ignoring Weston’s whine, to catch his lips with his own one more time.

Weston had lost count of how many times their lips had found each other, always going back there, as if not being able to before had been sorely missed without either of them noticing it. Their lips opened, their tongues alternating between licking into the other’s mouth, over the other’s lips or along the other’s tongue. His head was starting to feel light, Edmund’s chest still rumbling under his hand, and Weston sprang into action.

With an urgency unexpected considering the place and time they both were in, his hands scrambled along skin and Weston pushed the other toward the bed, moving blindly through the room until he felt the mattress, and pushed Edmund to sit down on it, climbing on his lap immediately after.

Their hands fumbled to take off the remaining garments, Weston deciding in the end to keep the other’s trousers on, as he really, really didn’t want to lose any time. His insides were aching, clenching around nothing, and wanting to be properly filled yesterday. Biting his lip to muffle a soft sound, Weston inhaled a sharp breath as the sensation of emptiness inside him increased when he finally pulled Edmund’s boxer out of the way, freeing his cock which stood hard and red, ready to fill him.

Licking his lips, Weston let out another noise, a protesting one this time, one that was swiftly shushed by Edmund, when the latter’s hands shot to his hips which he had rushed up. “Wait, pretty boy, we need to prepare you. Here, let me get the lube.”

Despite the very reasonable point, his actions didn’t slow down, nor lost their urgency. “Me. I’ll do it,” he rasped, snatching the bottle out of Edmund’s grasp.

He had already opened it, coated two fingers and moved his hand to his hole, his other one keeping his balance, thumb massaging the cord of Edmund’s shoulder, before Edmund murmured, “Is this your way of making me understand you think I’m shit at fingering you open?”

“No,” Weston protested softly, his eyes darting down for a quick second as he felt his cheeks flush. “I want to come with you inside me.”

One of his fingers was slowly being pushed inside of him, Weston feeling his inner walls immediately clenching on it. The sensation felt unfamiliar and Weston gulped, his lips curling into a small smile as his lower belly warmed at the realization that it did because Edmund was the one doing so most of the time. If not all the time.

He let out a soft moan and Edmund’s eyes widened, his own cheeks darkening through Weston’s blurring vision as he added another finger. “Yes,” he hissed, “yes only me.”

“Only you,” Weston breathed out, his eyelids fluttering close.

“Fuck, are you already to the second finger?” He nodded, crooking them at the same time and twisting his wrist, trying to be make himself ready for the third one. “Tell me, how does it feel? You-”

“Lacking,” he grumbled, his frown deepening as his third finger prodded, but remained unable to join the other even though the emptiness he was feeling hadn’t left yet.

“Lack- Really? You’d rather have my cock, is that it, hm? Or even my fingers would be better.” Weston nodded again, although it went without saying. “I see. Should I, then?” This time, he waited until the lube was poured over the other’s fingers before nodding eagerly. “Naïve boy,” Edmund said, then, chuckling, before he hissed as his hand wrapped around his cock, instead of joining Weston’s and helping relieving the tension building in his groin, making his lips purse into a small pout. “Since you were so eager to get ready by yourself, I’m not going to oppose you. Now hurry up, I’m getting impatient, too.”

“Mean,” he mumbled.

“Aye. But I think you like it, pretty boy. In fact,” he added, his hand moving to stroke Weston’s dick a couple of time, just enough for his jaw to clench and another whine to be pulled out of him when he stopped, “I know you do.”

“Sometimes.” That was the best he could do, the closest to the truth he could get. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Edmund about to retort something. “Shut up,” Weston said instead, muffling any protest by adding the, “sir,” as well as resuming the previous kiss.

Finally, he managed to add that damned third finger in, the kiss turning sloppy on his end as the entirety of his – small already – focus shifted to those fingers fucking into himself. After a few movements more, as soon as his hips started fully rocking in time with his own thrusts, he lifted his head from where he had it, forehead resting against Edmund’s chest, to look back to Edmund’s eyes and dive for another suck on his top lip.

His fingers left him, feeling more aching and emptier than when he had started, making Weston think he would literally melt if Edmund didn’t enter him now. He swiftly pushed the other’s hand away, that he had been using to leisurely stroke his dick in a mesmerizing movement, and replaced it by his own before lifting himself up and lining everything to a smooth path.

They both let out a satisfying and satisfied sigh as Weston lowered himself down at last, his own sound turning higher pitched with the effortlessness of the drag that slowly filled up any creases and hollows.

Eyes screwing shut, he let his head fall back as the sigh transformed into a gasp, one hand clenching around Edmund’s shoulder while the other left his cock once it was fully inside him to move to his thigh, balancing Weston. Edmund’s were spread around his waist, holding him close, holding him together, and a comfortable warmth spread in his chest. Weston felt secure. Safe.

It was a ludicrous feeling, he knew it. He was in a prison, he was the one getting fucked, and by a guy who was there for murder. Nothing about that should feel comfortable, should feel safe.

And yet it did.

Fuck, yet it did.

In a daze, he opened his eyes back, blinking at Edmund’s own, already staring at him, burning a hole in his face, and his mouth fell open with an inaudible gasp.

He recognized that sensation, that certainty of feeling like nothing could hurt him – it was one he had felt with very few people. His parents and siblings. And his boyfriend. James wasn’t Weston’s blood, but he was soft and sweet and as unthreatening as someone could be.

Not Edmund. Not other guy. Yet it was there, and unmistakable. His parents, his siblings, his boyfriend, and Edmund.

“Shit, you’re gorgeous.”

Yes.

Oh no. Oh no.

But it was too late, and Weston let the word wash over him, his shoulders seizing in a silent sob as he propelled his head forward, tilting it just enough to not cram their noses together, and pressing their mouths together, the kiss ferocious and ravenous. He began to move, slow, short movements, never lifting himself higher than half Edmund’s shaft. Never really wanting to. Just being there, one large hand on his thigh, the other at the small of his back, Weston’s clenching around another tensed thigh and neck, cock hard and burning inside him, and harsh, aborted sighs tickling his face, it was enough.

It was perfect. Like a lock finally being turned right.

Edmund’s right hand met his hip back and pushed him down on the next thrust and, just like that, every nerve on Weston’s body lightened and the slow motions were forgotten. The loud groan was swallowed and the urgency was back. His thighs strained as he lifted himself up, Edmund’s hands finishing the job in pushing him higher until only the head of his dick remained in him, before letting himself fall down with a choked sound.

“Like that,” Edmund would ramble in his ear, encouragements that fueled the heat coiling in his belly and remarks that made it flare up. “Yes, you missed my cock, didn’t you? Missed getting fucked? I suppose that’s somewhat mostly my fault, I’m partial to your mouth, tho-thought I could be convinced,” he added, the words gritted and hoarser with a particularly forceful downward thrust. Breathless, Weston opted to relieve the strain on his thighs and started grinding down, with the added bonus of keeping Edmund’s full length inside of him, “to even things out more. How’d you like that, hm? What’d you prefer?”

Keening, it took Weston a couple of seconds to regain the ability to form words. “More.”

Edmund chuckled. “That’s my boy,” he said, Weston’s body transforming into putty. “More of both, then?” He nodded eagerly, tilting his face up to mouth and nip along Edmund’s jaw, the prickling of the beginning of a beard under his tongue. It was doing things to his head, things he wasn’t sure he’d be able to endure and live through unscathed. Weston ran his fingers through the darker hair on his chest, following the trail until the spot where they were joined. “Keep going, then. Fuck yourself on me. Show me how much you love it, how much you want me.”

“I do,” Weston breathed out before he started moving again, his words going round and round in his head, picking up a faster rhythm. His cock twitched, every movement making the tip drag along the other’s abdomen, the light touch turning him mad but not yet, not yet. He wanted Edmund to come first, wanted the other to _know_ , to feel even half as good as he was making him feel. That would only be fair, after all.

“Doesn’t feel lacking anymore, now, right?” Brows furrowing, he shook his head. “You satisfied, or do you want more?”

Frown deepening, Weston slowed down his movements, unsure what the other was getting at. His eyes flew open when he felt Edmund’s newly lubed finger start stroking along his entrance, in the tale-telling way he did before he started to finger him open.

The other’s eyes were burning, looking completely black, threatening to engulf him whole, but the slight pressure growing against his hole snapped him back to reality.

“Do you want my fingers, too?”

The offer sent a shot of scorching heat to his dick, making Weston splutter. He couldn’t. No, he couldn’t, it was too much. Edmund’s cock was already a stretch by itself, filling him perfectly but creating with each thrust new space within him that’ll crave to be filled, but with his fingers? It didn’t sound pleasurable, despite what his dick might think.

Something must have shown on his face, because Edmund nodded without him having to say anything. “Alright, not the fingers.”

“It’s… still...” he reminded him, his hips remaining unmoving as all his attention zeroed on the feeling of those fingers, not pressing anymore but still there.

“I’ll leave them there, alright? It’ll feel good, you’ll see.”

Swallowing another time, Weston nodded before cautiously resuming his up and down movements. That was fine, just leaving it there. Edmund’s hand stayed still, like he had promised, only his fingers beginning to rub along the stretched skin, sometimes brushing at his own cock, if the way his breath shook during these moments was telling Weston anything.

It did feel good, Weston could see it.

The presence of those two fingers, lightening up sparks of pleasure and highlighting the jerky slides, remained a welcomed reminder of the titillating possibility of further that still remained safely away.

Weston’s hips bucked, almost dislodging Edmund, when the latter pressed his thumb on that soft, sensitive spot just behind his balls. He whined, his head falling back when Edmund’s other hand, the one that wasn’t deliciously bringing flickering stars before his eyes, moved to his front, and wrapped around his cock.

He let out another sound as Edmund’s hand started moving, his hips following and then attempting to outpace the tempo the other was setting, getting more frantic the more he felt the pressure to come building inside him.

“You too,” he managed to spill, his face scrunching with the effort of holding back, holding back, holding back.

“Shh, that’s alright. I’ll come, too, don’t worry ‘bout that.” The assurance actually soothed him, and Weston felt his muscles beginning to relax one by one. Edmund panted loudly. “That’s just how you are, isn’t it? That’s you wanting to make sure I’m enjoying myself, is it?” Brows furrowing slightly, Weston nodded. “Nothing else, hm? I thought you didn’t want me to make you come because you had found someone else to do it.”

Weston’s frown deepened and he jerked his head back straight, his hips faltering. “What?”

Before he could continue, however, Edmund buried his face in Weston’s neck, his tongue flicking at his earlobe. “Shh, it’s fine. I get it now, beautiful. I’m enjoying myself.”

He chuckled, as if the concern was ludicrous, and it made Weston smile, too, through his hazed mind. The hand around his dick picked up its previous pace and, with the pleasure coming from that thumb, rubbing along his perineum, Weston came, in the middle of Edmund’s string of encouragements.

“I’ll enjoy myself even more when I see my gorgeous boy come all over himself,” the other said, the words mingling in a constant rumble, the more Weston’s moans turned higher and closer, “you’ll have all the time in the world to take care of me after, alright? Now be good for me, and come boy. I want to see- Fuck. There, there, that was good. Felt good, didn’t it? I know,” he added, shushing Weston’s high-pitched whimper when his hand continued to stroke him, oversensitive shivers starting to erupt, “I know you must be tired.” Edmund chuckled, giving back a knowing look to Weston’s half-pleading one. “But gotta make sure my good boy is satisfied, don’t I? Aren’t you happy?”

God, of course he was. More happy and satisfied than he ever remembered being, at the time, feeling as if he was surrounded by cotton, with the burning thrill of anticipation of what was still about to come, literally.

Using the last strength he could find to resume moving his hips wasn’t a small feat, but it took only half a dozen of movements, helped by Edmund’s own sharp upward thrusts, before he sighed and faltered, his hand tightening around Weston’s thigh as Weston’s clutched in his hair, as a warm flow filled his insides.

Weston let out a contended, small sigh as the corners of his lips curled up, playing with Edmund’s hair as he waited for his orgasm to abate. His whole body was pliant, his weight resting entirely on the other. He felt his lids dropping as solid arms encircled his waist, pulling him even closer while Edmund tried to regain his breathing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of firsts in this chapter!  
> I hope you liked them all!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter!  
> Enjoy!

Something had shifted. It was subtle, but very much present, and unmistakable once Weston had started to truly pay attention.

The question as to why was burning him to be asked aloud, but on the past five days since he recalled the beginning of the change – on that evening he and Edmund had ended up falling asleep on top of each other, Weston waking up with the biggest start when he had rolled over only to _not_ fall down – the opportunity to do so had never occurred.

Weston hadn’t mentioned it either, in case the other hadn’t noticed he was doing it, which was more than probable. Truly, Weston should better keep his mouth shut.

But patience had never been his forte and, as he found himself struggling to not burst under the sheer numbers of considerations and little things he noticed, these past days, to keep that one to himself was proving to be more of a hardship than expected.

Like, had Edmund’s eyes always lingered on him, their presence always felt whatever Weston was doing – was it talking, or laughing, or thinking, or eating, or anything else? And felt so welcomed? His being close awaited for, liked? His every word etching themselves in his memory? His face so inviting? His hair so caressable – and so what if that wasn’t a real word? Or his hands always felt so soft on his skin?

“Weston? Weston!”

The call of his name snapped him out of his daze and his head jerked upright, his hand tightening around the handset.

“Yes, what? Something wrong?”

“What’s happening with you?” James whined. “Are you paying attention to the conversation? I said I want to hear you say it.”

Ah yes. Gulping, Weston’s hand moved to scratch at his nose. He knew what his boyfriend wanted to hear. “I’m sorry. I love you, Jimmy, a lot.” The way the words felt freeing made his shoulders relax, albeit minutely. James’ doing, for sure. At least this hadn’t changed, and he was glad for it. His Jimmy, unchanging and unchanged through the years. Safe and known, all Weston needed. What he needed was all that mattered.

Because when everything would be over, he would still have his Jimmy. And perhaps he had strayed, and that made him a horrible person, but once he would be out – or sooner yet, in a little more than a month – his boyfriend will welcome him and hug him and kiss him and everything else would remain a memory.

He needed not to forget that.

“Your brother called, the other day,” James said, thankfully not picking on the slight strain of his voice, and instead picking Weston’s attention, his heartbeat starting to accelerate. “He was asking about you. Sounded angry.”

James didn’t do well with intimidation when he was the main receiving one. Hence the reason why things were the way they were, at the moment. And if Sean was angry – which Weston could wholeheartedly believe – then it was probably his fault. “I’m sorry he called you. He can’t call here, you see.”

“Can’t you call him next, though?”

“He’ll know.”

“He won’t. He loves you, he won’t press.”

“I think you’re confusing him with Sarah… I’m not really-”

“I was in a meeting with the Duke, when he called,” James added hurriedly, effectively cutting Weston off, whose heart stopped for a second. “He then asked about the shouting.”

“Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit.” That was really bad luck, and Weston didn’t have the time to spare a happy thought on how James seemed to gain the Duke’s respect – and who knew, one day maybe Battlers and the Kid’s, but maybe that was him dreaming in too big again – since it was immediately jeopardized. “Did it interrupt something important? What did you say? Oh I’ll call Sean next Monday, of course yes, and I’ll get him for that, don’t worry. How did it end? How much did he hear? What did you tell the Duke? What did he say?”

“Wait, Weston, breathe. I, um, I can’t tell you anything, but it’s not that serious.”

“Not that- Oh. Really? That’s great to hear. He wasn’t angry?”

“No, no. Like I told you, he really does start to trust me. He was just a bit annoyed,” he added, as if he could see Weston’s puzzled frown. “Don’t chew your brother out too much, alright? You don’t need to tell him, about the Duke-”

“It’s important he-”

“Really, Weston. Please. It’s fine. Just call him and tell him you’re fine, and that you love me a lot. Promise me.”

“Alright, I promise?” He persisted in thinking Sean would understand more easily if he knew the Duke was somehow involved in all of this. But if James didn’t want to… He supposed it was brave, coming from his boyfriend, if a bit pointless to not use the protection when it was given.

But then, Weston was also well-acquainted of keeping one’s cards close, to play them at the best opportunity, for maximum effect. It wasn’t pointless, it was clear-sighted, and smart.

“I love you, Weston.”

Just as James said those words, expectantly, and, like fate was there, the guard knocked at the door, signaling the end was soon. “I love you too.”

“Truly?”

There was a long pause, despite Weston’s best efforts, before he mumbled, “Truly.”

“Forever?”

Weston gulped. “Forever,” he said, the line cutting in the middle of the word.

His mind stayed preoccupied with his brother’s stunt the following hours that he spent pacing in the yard, wanting not for the first time to be out, free. And Monday was in three days, what if Sean called again and- But James had told him it wasn’t that bad, that the Duke had understood.

“Something’s wrong?” Edmund asked, his voice pulling him out of his thoughts.

Weston turned to him, gazing for a moment, pondering, until Edmund’s eyebrow lifted and he blurted out what had been preoccupying him for the past days, “Why the absence?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re not… You’re not calling me pretty boy anymore,” he clarified, adding once the other only nodded for answer, “Why not?”

“Why? Do you miss it?”

“Absolutely not.”

“There you go. You told me you didn’t like it.” He shrugged as Weston felt his jaw drop slightly and he gawked at the other.

“And?” He snorted, though it sounded weak even to his own ears. Almost pleading, asking Edmund to start sneering and call him names again. “Since when do you care about that?”

“You said you didn’t like it. You also spoke about wanting to be respected or, well, shown more respect. Between a few insults. I figured this was as good first step as any to begin with.”

“Oh.”

They remained silent for a couple of seconds, staring while Weston tried to regain control of his breathing. _Didn’t like it. Shown. Begin with._ Oh. “And well, because I have to, too, with that new agreement,” Edmund added in a rough tone, allowing the lump in Weston’s throat to disappear.

That was good, that was well. “Right,” he said, nodding, “Good.”

“Really? Because I can do it again, if you miss-”

“No!” His grip tightened around his fork handle. “I don’t.”

Edmund scoffed lightly at his vehement reaction. “Why do you hate it so much, if I may? It’s considered as a compliment, usually.”

“It gets really tiring, really fast,” was Weston’s curt retort.

Realization flashed through the other’s eyes, as well as something else Weston couldn’t decipher. He didn’t mind it – Edmund’s face was almost impossible to read, the guy probably having been the biggest poker hustler in a previous life. “Right. Though I couldn’t help but notice some very opposite reactions you’ve been having to other, similar words.”

Eyes widening, Weston looked pointedly across the room, the very full, very admittedly noisy self and, most particularly, the presence of Matt, John, Coby and Frank sitting close enough to overhear them, as always.

Did he really want to talk about that here?

No way. he was out for this one.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious that you do, beautiful. I’ll just conclude that you’re being vain.”

Ignoring the feeling of his face flushing, Weston snorted. “Maybe. Never as much as you, though. Mister call me sir,” he mouthed the last word, but his chuckling died down when Edmund’s lips tightened with determination.

The other opened his mouth and no- Weston couldn’t have that happen. He already knew his name, but Edmund had no idea he did, and he had no intention to ever use it. He couldn’t have an invitation to use it. In a panic, he loudly cleared his throat and banged his palm on the table, attracting the attention of the closest tables and the interrogative glances of the buddies – even glimpsing Coby and Edmund’s right hands shoot to their calf, where they kept _razor blades_ \- but effectively managing to silence the latter.

Smiling innocently at them all, Weston gestured for them to return to their food and ignore this.

“So what’s bothering you this much?” Edmund asked, once they all sighed at the false alarm. “It can’t have been that.”

“Why do you sound so convinced something’s bothering me?”

“You haven’t eaten anything since we sat down, which is more than unusual for you.” Weston shrugged, his head lowering slightly and his face warming at the idea the other noticed. What could he say, the food may be not the best, but at least it was warm, filling, and regular. “And this,” he tapped to the side of his nose, “you always scratch your nose when you’re preoccupied with something. It’s a tic of yours.”

He mumbled. “That was a rhetorical question.”

“Well, mine wasn’t.”

Nibbling on the inside of his cheek, Weston glanced to the buddies. Out of the four, only Frank was looking at them, and smiled at him before pointedly looking away when their eyes met, giving him a tiniest bit more of privacy.

“It’s my brother. He did something… annoying I suppose? You know how brothers are. I’m supposed to tell him not to, but my next call is scheduled for Mond-”

“Monday. I see. It’s urgent? You don’t sound very convinced.”

“It… wasn’t against me. In fact, I’m sure he did it because he’s worried about me and… all that,” he gestured wildly, hoping Edmund would understand _the incarceration_ and not something like _none of my family knows I’m here because if they did, they’d probably kill my boyfriend and all his efforts would end up ruined_.

“Right. That’s good that you… have people looking out for you, outside.”

“We’re a family. We look out for each other.”

Edmund didn’t have anything more to add to that, and so they finished their meal – Weston forcing himself to swallow a few bites of his, since his absence of appetite was apparently being noticed – internally glad when the conversation started anew, helping him keep his attention away from all the strange fluttering feelings in his gut.

It was as if the conversation had never happened, which was the reason why Weston’s steps faltered when he entered Edmund’s room that night and found the latter waiting for him differently than usual. The past week had already brought its load of change; no more ‘pretty boy’, but no more ‘desperate slut’ or ‘greedy whore’ either, and similar happenstances as what occurred during the dinner. The conversations didn’t happen with Weston on the sidelines anymore. No, his opinion, or thoughts were asked for, and listened to on diverse subjects, more trivial ones compared to the ones Edmund and he sometimes lost themselves in at night, but which served to highlight Weston’s daily routine even more.

“Where are we going?” Weston asked, gaping at Edmund’s sign to step outside first. Amongst all the befuddlement, Weston had to swallow back his disappointment, though a spike of thrill remained at the idea of wandering along the corridors. He greatly preferred his company to Milan’s, despite the guard being on their feet.

His steps slowed down as they neared their destination and he recognized the glass door.

“Try not to take too long,” Milan said, moving past them to unlock the door.

“We’ll take the time we’ll need. Don’t worry about the cameras, or the meter.”

“Don’t worry about them?” Weston inquired, once Milan had closed the door after them. The call room was silent and dark, but not enough so that they would blend with the dark walls. He imagined the cameras were made for this. “What are we doing here?”

The answer seemed obvious for him, but maybe he was wrong. A part of him even came to hope this was the case, and that he was just misreading everything. But Edmund confirmed his doubts.

While in any other situation, Weston would have simply thanked him profusely and ran to the phone, dialing Sean’s number at once, a memory about one of their conversation held him back. “What do you want, in exchange?” That was what Edmund had said, every little service was ever made to be returned.

“Nothing.” Weston felt his eyes starting to widen and his jaw dropped slightly in a silent gasp. “I just thought you’d prefer not to wait until Monday, it seemed important.”

He beamed as his heart skipped a beat. “It is, yes.”

“Here, you’ll use my identifier for the meter, and they won’t ask questions.”

Right. Throwing Edmund a glance, he was suddenly reminded that he knew the Duke, too. The latter would probably tell him, if Edmund wanted, about what he honestly thought about James or Sean’s call. But Weston pressed his lips in a thin line. He wouldn’t ask that, he refused to use the fact that he had met Edmund by happenstance in prison to try and gain some little information on his boyfriend’s boss.

“Thank you,” was all he said instead, his voice coming out choked out and tight with emotions. Edmund gave a tight smile and stepped out of the booth after dialing his identifier, walking to the main door and facing away from him.

It was a smart idea, because Sean ended up a pain to convince to, first, not call his boyfriend out of the blue and especially not to scold him like a kid, second, to stop nagging for him to come home sooner than the three months announced and third, to trust that he was fine, not hiding from his boyfriend nor participating in any way to his business, even when he was calling past nightfall, from an unknown number.

“Why don’t you want me to call you back on it, then?” Sean said. In his head, Weston could picture his brother’s face perfectly at that moment. “If you’re fine. If it’s a trusted number, but not yours, then tell me the name of that friend.”

“I can’t,” Weston whispered back, not wanting to annoy Edmund with his family trouble. It had been a pain, as well, to soothe Sean’s worries. His brother had always been too perceptive for Weston’s own preferences, and, contrary to Sarah or their parents or younger siblings, Sean didn’t shy off from prodding and pushing until he got what he wanted to know. “He doesn’t want his name to be spread around.”

“You say you’re fine, but you’re surrounded by drugs dealers. They’re shifty folks, Weston. Untrustworthy to the bone. If he’s refusing your brother to know his real name, then it means he’s hiding something.”

“I know. But I don’t give a shit what he might hide. He’s just… housing us.”

“That’s enough to give a shit. What if the cops end up ringing at the door, one night, and you’re the only one in the flat?”

They went at it for a couple more minutes, Weston whispering furiously to every argument and concern his brother threw at him, until he agreed to let the matter go “for now” with a grumble that made Weston smile fondly and the promise of him calling more often.

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Alright. Be careful, half a scoop, okay? Everybody misses you, here.”

“I will. I miss you guys too.”

As they walked back to what Weston hoped was still Edmund’s room and not to split apart as half an hour had passed already, none of them mentioned what had just happened, or what Edmund might or might not have overheard. Weston sneaked furtive and subtle glances during the walk, impatience building inside his chest, before he literally pounced on the other once they were finally out of Milan’s view.

Edmund’s arms caught him easily, allowing an appreciative sigh to slip past his lips before he pressed their mouths together, immediately opening his, as his arms and legs wrapped around Edmund, holding on tight.

Hands grabbed his thighs as he was carried to one of the walls, Weston feeling his gut tighten as he kissed the other, trying to pour down everything he was feeling at the moment, as well as the past hours. Days. Weeks.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Edmund mumbled against his mouth. “I told you, I don’t want anything in return.”

They stayed still for a moment, foreheads leaning against each other, Weston still being lifted up, Edmund’s eyes the only thing he could see. Then, Weston shook his head, slowly, never breaking their eye contact, looking as serious as he could while his heart soared and he felt himself melt when the tip of their noses brushed together.

“This is thank you,” he murmured, before tilting his head and giving a quick kiss on Edmund’s cheekbone. His mouth trailed to the other’s and he added, “And this is me wanting you. Fuck, you have no idea how much if you’re still saying things like that.”

It was driving him crazy. Edmund’s presence being enough on itself to light his insides on fire, make his heart race, have him aching to be closer, always closer, it was never enough except maybe in those blissful seconds following orgasm, as well as make him relaxed and secure, in its own particular way.

And Weston wanted, wanted, wanted. More, always more. It had never felt this way, this thought-consuming need to be with another person. Not even with James, he thought, gulping as the flicking thought of his boyfriend made his hips falter from where they had started to rock against Edmund’s belly. Yet it was natural that he would try to compare the two; James had been the very first actual, tangible guy he had wanted to have sex with.

But, frankly, the comparison stopped there.

And now all Weston could do was relish in Edmund’s close proximity for as long as it would be allowed to last, and hope James wouldn’t ask too many questions when Weston would go back to him with his new offers and propositions for sex.

They got rid of their own clothes quickly, suddenly wanting nothing else but feel skin against skin. Close, but not enough.

It was only when Edmund pushed inside him than the tension that had been building from his conversation with James, and then the one with Sean, as well as his worries from his own confused feelings for the man in front of him flew away. Damn but he wished time would just stop, right this moment, and wouldn’t that be glorious?

Wouldn’t that be glorious, to have Edmund close, as physically close as two humans could possibly be? Seeing, feeling, knowing for himself that he was content, or even, dare he think it, happy? And keeping it so?

Wouldn’t that be glorious to just throw away all the sacrifices, all the harsh decisions that were taken those months before he came here, carelessly like a gust of wind?

Wouldn’t it be glorious to have it all possible?

Of course, reality came crashing back way too soon for Weston’s starved mind, albeit in the most blissful of ways. Too soon after, as his arms not having found the strength to support his weight fully back, Edmund had followed him, his breath hitching and his thrusts turning uncoordinated, with no other purpose than to prolong his own shot of toe-curling pleasure, and spark the possibility of Weston’s second one.

The long whine Weston let out, teeth gritted to prevent the sob that wanted to follow it to do so, when Edmund pulled out made his face flare up, yet it was stronger than himself. The other faltered above him, leaning back to lightly kiss at his nape. “Shh. What’s getting you all pouting, beautiful?” he murmured before standing up, leaving Weston’s back to the cold air of the room, chills erupting across his skin.

He buried his face in the mattress, trying to make himself forgotten in what was probably a way too optimistic wish, as he heard Edmund walk around his room, opening one cupboard and turning the water on. The time when he would have to leave was coming closer, and Weston scrunched his eyes shut when he felt the bed dipping next to him, and a wonderfully hot body lie down next to his, once he had finished cleaning him.

“Are you hurt?”

His shoulders sagged into the mattress then, before he had to turn his face to Edmund and swear to him he wasn’t.

“What’s wrong, then? Because I’ve known you happier.”

It was after a couple of efforts that he managed to lift himself to his elbows and shuffle closer, trying to look as cuddly as possible – which he knew wasn’t easy, with all the bony elbows and everything – and mumble, “I don’t want this to be over.” He kissed Edmund right on the mouth before the other could answer anything, however, feeling a comfortable warmth flushing thorough his entire body at all the images he kept unspoken.

“What, you want another round?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?” Edmund breathed out. Thankfully he didn’t look disgusted, merely politely curious, or even interested, which encouraged Weston to continue.

“Yes,” he said. “I want to… to feel you.”

“Just to feel me?” He nodded. “Shit, sweet one, you can’t say shit like that. Okay. I’m not fucking you,” he repeated, “you’re okay with that.”

Heat rushed through Weston’s body, pooling into his groin. Fuck yes. “Yeah,” he gasped, taking in Edmund’s parted bitten red lips and the way his eyes were darkening again. “You?”

“Well, I’m certainly not going to say no, not when you’re asking so nicely. Okay. I’ve never done this before though, so-”

“Me neither.”

“Okay. It’s fine. We’ll try, just for a couple of minutes.” That was good, that was long enough, Weston berated himself for thinking otherwise. “Alright. Turn around, beautiful.” Before Weston could, however, Edmund pulled him down for a kiss, working them up although they had both come minutes ago. “There,” he said once Weston’s back pressed against his chest, his breath hitting the side of his neck and making him shiver, his head resting on Edmund’s arm. “You comfortable?”

Weston hummed contently, eyes closing blissfully and sighing softly when he felt Edmund’s cock enter him again. The sensation was different, softness instead of hardness, and resting instead of steady of more frantic movements, but it felt no less _good_. Loving, almost, and the word made another gush of warmth, lighter and sweeter pour in his chest.

“Feels good?” Edmund asked, his nose brushing a trail from bottom to top of his neck, as his arm came to wrap around Weston’s waist.

Weston slowly nodded. “What about you?”

“Fuck yes. You’re one of a kind, beautiful, you know that? Taking such good care of me.”

“You do, too,” he confessed. Didn’t know what made him, exactly, if it was because of the day that had just passed, or the way his brain felt all mellow, or his body lethargic, but the words were out, and Weston squirmed at the thought.

Tutting, Edmund’s hand paused drawing the pattern it had begun to on Weston’s stomach until he stopped. “Don’t. I don’t want you to be embarrassed like that. It’s fine. You can ask for things you want. You can ask for anything.”

_Love me._

Nodding sleepily, Weston felt his lips stretch into a smile and he burrowed himself further in Edmund’s hold.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to spoil but this is a big chapter...
> 
> Enjoy! :)

_I love him_.

The words had come naturally to him, once he had allowed himself to let his thoughts wander – for what? for what? The realization hadn’t been such a realization, and hadn’t surprised him in the least, more of an admittance. Yes, Weston loved him. This was love.

When Edmund fucked him. When he kissed him. When he wrapped his arms around Weston’s waist in his sleep, when he laughed, or smiled, or talked about those two brothers of his that were more friends than blood brothers, or about those books stocked on that shelf, or when he indulged in whatever thoughts Weston blurted out. When he looked at him. 

That feeling, that light, sweet, chest-warming, nervous and encompassing feeling, that was love. There were no doubts to be had.

 _I love him_.

And now what? He had no good answer to that and, with a sharp intake of breath and his eyes fluttering close, Weston pushed the last question out of his mind, focusing instead on the trail of kisses along his neck. He basked in them, in the feel of them and tried to commit it to memory while he still could.

Sometimes, when he glimpsed Edmund looking back at him, he thought he could see some sort of… returned affection. A fondness, maybe? Definitely something. Something he couldn’t discern.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly trying to look, either. In any other situation, he would. He would poke and push and see, but not now. Not there. Here, his only intention was to make the most of the remaining- oh shit, it was evening already, meaning the day was mostly done. Behind. Lost forever. They had so little left, Weston didn’t want to ruin the next ones by pressing _too much_ and have Edmund bolt away.

For this, he wasn’t brave.

And sure, there was the hope – the foolish, overly optimistic hope – that it could be returned. That the something in Edmund’s eyes was love, too, or at least as close to it as it could, and that it was possible for them to have a future, outside of these walls. Maybe. Even a small one.

But then, Weston still had two months to spend. And he would do them, no matter what feelings had changed or hadn’t. He had given his word. But two months was so long, when one couldn’t do anything but talk for five brief minutes three times a week on an old phone, for a new relationship.

And that was the best Weston could offer, at the time. Which implied Edmund returning the feelings Weston had nurtured on his own, in spite of anything that would appear slightly reasonable, given their shared situation. For all he knew, even if it was harder and harder to remember it with each passing minutes – but Weston knew himself, too, and knew he liked to see what he wanted to see, too – Edmund still considered him with the same contempt as he had when it had all begun.

Or, well, perhaps not at the beginning. Perhaps all of Edmund’s contempt had disappeared long ago, to be replaced by that fondness, or more, Weston had-

See, he was doing it right now. Or was he?

Edmund made it hard to think clearly. If that man’s voice was illegal, and his cock even worse than that, Weston’s vocabulary had no idea how to qualify the effect his kisses had on an unsuspecting – but very willing – party.

Damn, but that fucker had all the reasons in the world to be cocky. Even Weston would, if he were in his shoes.

That’d sure solve some problems.

But Weston wasn’t in anyone’s shoes but his own, and thus could glimpse and theorize and guess, but couldn’t know.

Thus he attempted to keep every second of every waking day in his memory, tried to find some ways, some quirks or remarks, to make himself as unforgettable, as interesting in Edmund’s mind as the other was in his own, and spend as much time as possible with him.

He had found an interest for the gym, or, well, for gazing at people working out in a gym for afternoons, probably looking as lovesick as he was, although thankfully Edmund had never remarked on it, nor hinted for him to stop. And Weston spent quite a few hours – the same he spent watching him in the gym, to be fair – wondering and thinking back on every single thing Edmund did or said, only to find himself more and more captivated.

Same went for sleeping. Since that day they had woken up in a predicament, after both falling asleep when they really shouldn’t have, Weston had taken on burrowing himself in the mattress once they’d finish fucking. Thankfully for this as well, Edmund had never mentioned for him to leave, and usually just laid down next to him, allowing Weston to use him as a live-sized cuddly pillow during the night, and so they had been sharing a bed since then.

Weston didn’t remember ever sleeping as well as he did, and it was in a prison bed.

That same bed he was being gently pressed in, lips and hips meeting with a sweet and slow regularity, though the hastiness had abated long ago. From then, Weston was enjoying the unhurried make out session, even if his cock was aching in the confine of his pants and his lips were bruised. His heart was feeling as if it was always seconds away from bursting with adoration, and there was nothing he wished more than to continue, even if it meant delaying the end relief.

The journey felt as relieving as the end was, anyway.

So, when Edmund’s hips started to slow down until they were barely moving at all, Weston’s sigh didn’t turn disappointed nor frustrated. His fingers curled and uncurled in Edmund’s hair as his eyes fluttered open to meet the latter’s serious ones.

“Quit your boss.”

“What?”

“Leave him,” he explained, although the words didn’t make more sense to him, nevertheless. “And come- come with us. Working. Fabian’ll find you a place,” Fabian was one of his two close friends, “whatever it is you’re selling, he’ll find you a place.”

“I-” Brows furrowing slightly, it took Weston a few seconds to finally get what Edmund was talking about. No, it had nothing to do with his cakes, pastries, and breads, where his brain had immediately gone. Weston remembered the other knew about him being here for drugs. It was drugs he meant. Thumb stroking the apple of his cheek, Edmund leaned down to kiss him, the lingering press of his mouth feeling like a plea.

He wanted…

But that was impossible. Literally so. “No,” Weston murmured, his eyes skimming to the right, unable to meet Edmund’s. “Thank you, but I won’t do that.”

“Why not? Sweet one,” Edmund added, before he could think of answering him, trying to catch his gaze once more. The name tugged at Weston’s heart, closer to his ribcage as if it wanted to just break from his chest and go nestle in Edmund’s, “whoever that man is, he doesn’t deserve you, nor your loyalty. No one who has your interests in mind would let you go here. Fabian wouldn’t.” He kissed his cheek. “I wouldn’t.”

Fuck, he loved him.

His eyes prickled with tears and Weston swallowed back the lump in his throat, but softly shook his head. “I can’t.” He nibbled on his bottom lip to prevent himself to say more. He had sworn to James he wouldn’t tell another soul.

And yet…

Edmund kept on pressing, frowning and his lips tight, their corners turned down, his eyes intent and observing every little crease and twitch Weston made. He wondered about it, speaking about all the advantages Weston’d have in a way that made him almost want to start a career in that shifty field, asked whether he was scared of anything, or of someone even, telling him not to be.

Weston wanted to trust him. But there was no boss, none at all. Finally, he blinked forcefully and, his belly a tight mess of nerves and his hand coming to lightly scratch at the side of his nose, he met the other’s gaze again. “There’s no boss,” he murmured, his mouth half-twisted in a wince. “I’m not a dealer?”

Silence fell on them for a couple of minutes, before Edmund softly asked, “What?”

“I’m a baker, actually.” Weston chuckled nervously, glancing up only to see Edmund’s appalled face and have any nervousness move up to clog his throat and windpipe. Yet that didn’t stop the rest of his babbling to spill out. Oh well, screwed for screwed. “Cakes and everything, that’s all I sell. Well, I used to, in any case. It’s been more than four months since I’ve shown myself there, it’s more than probable they’ve fired me. So, I guess I’m unemployed as of now, but I’m not… I’m not a drug dealer. I don’t know much about drugs in general, that’s not- that’s not me.” He gulped. “In fact, I’m only here because- wait, where are you going?”

The last bit had turned to a whine as Weston’s gut froze and his heart skipped a beat when Edmund slowly untangled himself away from Weston’s grip and stood up. Away. Gone, that was it, his mind supplied, the end, the early splitting he had feared, and he felt the first tears burning the back of his mouth.

However, even though Edmund’s eyes were decisive and his mouth set, he didn’t step back when Weston scrambled to sit up, and even took the hand that had caught his wrist. “If there’s been an error, then you’re not supposed to be here at all. You need to find one of the guards and tell them-”

“No!” he choked out, half relieved and half dreading as the other was tugging him back to his feet as well, determined to go search for one right this instant. They couldn’t, though. He didn’t do all of that for nothing. “No no, don’t.”

“Nonsense.”

“Don’t. Please.” That brought him to a full stop. Gulping, Weston willed to keep on. “They can’t know all that. I’m the one who decided to be here, no one is supposed to know it’s not me.” His eyes widened suddenly as he remembered exactly who Edmund was. And who his friend was. “You… you can’t tell anyone, either.”

“Who are you protecting, then? Who convinced you this was a good idea?”

“No one. No one needed to. It’s… it’s my boyfriend. He couldn’t come here.”

“He couldn’t come here?” Edmund was seething. That, was clear to see. Furious and perplexed. “Fuck, do you notice how that sounds? If he was the one who got caught, then he should be here. Not you.”

“No, he’s doing it for me.”

“He’s not. Holy shit, he’s fucking not. He’s doing it for no one else but himself.”

“No, no.” It wasn’t that, it wasn’t that at all. But… he understood what it must look like to Edmund. Weston was pulled between wanting to explain, to defend James, and bask in the obvious concern that was making his belly flip around. “He really couldn’t. He wouldn’t have survived one day here and he… he needed to be outside. For work reasons. It’s _very_ important.”

“So he sent you here.”

His shoulders relaxed when Edmund moved back on the bed, kneeling before him, their hands still holding on the other, but otherwise not touching. “I agreed to come. We both did. He has work to do, work he couldn’t turn down. A great opportunity.” But Edmund didn’t look convinced in the least, and so Weston took a deep breath, his hand tightening around Edmund’s to draw strength from it, and pulled out his ace. “He’s working on a big case, as we speak, as the new representative for the Duke.”

The nickname did its intended effect on Edmund’s face, turning his eyes wide and his jaw hanging. “For the… what?”

“And he’s not doing it mainly for him, but for me. For me and my family, you see. Because I’ve got a couple of siblings, and there’s my dad too, who’re working for them – but more at the lower end of the scale. We moved here years ago, but we’re not from the family, you know, not from this place entirely, and so we stayed there,” but that wasn’t the matter, here, “anyway, he’s going to speak to the Duke for them, too, in a few months. My dad, my brother, and my sister. And then we’ll have enough money to buy a bigger house, with more rooms, and my younger sisters, they’ll be able to go to college or I don’t know, whatever they want, and- sorry, I’m rambling. He’s been working on cases with the Duke for a few weeks, now, and he’s doing great. All opportunities he’d never had, had he come here. Do you understand, now?” he asked, finally, softly, almost pleading. “He couldn’t come. That’s why I’m… asking you not to tell him that. The Duke. I know you’re friend with him. Please, I… I don’t know what he’d think.”

“Hate it,” Edmund said after long minutes of silence where he observed him, face etched in disapproval. “Sweet one, why do you say you know I’m friend with him?”

“J- Boyfriend told me. I asked him to ask around, at the beginning, because I wanted to know your name, since you knew mine, and he told me you two are friends.” Weston wondered if it was that Fabian, since Edmund had been talking of giving a word to someone who’d obviously worked in drugs. “He works for the Duke, like I told you.”

“You did.” Edmund nodded and tilted his head to one side, leaning closer and, for a moment, Weston thought he was going to kiss him. “What’s his name?”

“Of the Duke? I don’t know.”

His lips twitched. “No, of your boyfriend.”

He wouldn’t ruin James’ long efforts, however. Not for all the kisses in the world. Poor James, if he could see him now. “You have to swear you’re not going to tell the Duke about him. Never.”

“I swear. I won’t tell that name to him.”

“Why do you want to know it, then?”

_For me?_

“’Cause maybe I’ll need it someday. If anyone talks about him, I’ll know I can speak for him.”

“I’m not going to tell you, if that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Why? I could be talking about speaking a good word, too.”

“But you’re not.”

“No, I’m not. He should’ve never asked you to come in his place. That’s not something anyone will like, in the place.”

“But he’s working with the Duke as for now.”

“That- That’s not an excuse. He basically sent you to the jungle, and if he had an ounce of intelligence, and a pair of eyes that’s working, he would have known what’d have happened. Yet he still agreed to have you come here, all alone, without any protection. I don’t get why you’re still defending him. You should be angry. You should be furious at his cowardice, and his obvious lack of concern for you.”

Weston eyed him, letting his fondness show; that was concern, there was no doubt about it. He cared, Edmund cared. “That’s where you’re mistaken,” he pointed out softly. “He didn’t. He told me to say that he worked for the Duke if I ever had troubles. I had my ace, and-”

“Your… your ace. That was your ace?” Weston nodded, his mouth pursing in a small pout at the incredulous tone. That was one crazy intimidating ace, if one asked him, the Duke wasn’t the Kid, but he did have a scary reputation. Weston wouldn’t want to cross him. He told Edmund just this. “If that’s what you think,” he answered, his Adam apple bobbing. “Why didn’t you use it, then?”

He chuckled. “Maybe I have. Maybe the others’ niceness isn’t only due to the power of your scowling. You can’t know that.”

“Right. Tell me his name, beautiful, come on, I won’t tell anyone, I promise, alright?” He continued to ask, punctuating every few seconds with a fluttering kiss there, a ticklish caress here, until Weston had turned into a giggling mess and relented.

“James,” he said, “James Gardner.”

As a thank you, he got a toe-curling kiss that made any name that wasn’t the one of the man slowly pressing him back into the mattress and licking in his mouth flee from his mind.

In fact, it was more than enough to, as always, render his mind blank save for “want him” and, since a couple of days ago, “love him” as well. He kept the latter for himself, of course, the childish fear of rejection guarding it close to his heart, but the former, he didn’t mind letting the former be known by Edmund. And thus his legs slowly fell open, one of them hooking around his as his hips lifted to resume the drag they had started.

One of his hand, the one that wasn’t playing with the shorter hair at the back of Edmund’s head, roamed along every spot he could reach, fingers dipping teasingly under the hem of his pants or stroking along his abdomen, feeling the muscles contract with every slow roll. Weston smiled, turning the deep kiss into a simple press of lips.

“You’re something else, you know that?”

What does that mean? he wanted to ask, the question burning on his tongue. Please be careful, he would add, because I hear something, and I’m not sure you’re aware of it. I’m not sure you imagine all the implications this can have.

It would be too good to be true, truly. Truth. Yes, the truth was Edmund may, but nothing was telling Weston that this wasn’t just wishful thinking. Just him wishing.

Wishing was something he tended to do easily, especially when the other was looking at him like _that_.

Like he was in awe of something, someone – me, me, me – eyes shining and warm, so warm it made him forget how they had looked like, when they had been cold, hair ruffled and lips parted, asking to be kissed again.

So Weston tugged him down, mumbled a “Fuck, fuckity, fuck,” that fitted perfectly with his state of mind, and did, muffling the light chuckle with his lips. Hips bucking to the warmth above him, he hummed appreciatively when Edmund’s hands grasped his thighs to hold them up.

A well-known hunger simmered in his belly, pushing him to take the few layers that still covered him off.

“Let’s do something else tonight, beautiful, hm?” Edmund proposed, his voice a pleasant rumble. “Just this, alright?”

He nodded. “Yes, anything.”

“Should be careful who you’re saying that to. Fuck, gorgeous,” he added after Weston whined when he shifted the angle of their hips, making their cocks drag against each other, sending shivers up his spine. “You sound so good for me, you foolish, sweet one.”

Through the buzz in his head, Weston still made a sound of protest and swatted at Edmund’s shoulder.

“Coming here’s a silly move, boy. I won’t change my mind about it. And here you are anyway. Fuckin’ baker. Don’t know why I didn’t guess it earlier. You don’t look anything like a dealer. Shifty people they are.”

The familiar words made him huff. “Told you I’m a good actor.”

“Aye, maybe you are.” The rush of victory passing through him had Weston beaming, both because of the words and because of the fond tone in which they were spoken. Their hips hadn’t stopped moving even for a second, bringing more and more pleasure shooting through his – theirs hopefully – bodies. “Feel good?” he asked after a particularly loud moan Weston had felt resonating to his core.

Talking while his dick was that hard and constantly stimulated had never been one of Weston’s strong point. “Yes, do,” he panted, his breathing alternatively loud and cut off. “Tell me.”

“Tell you? Want me to talk, hm? Now what does my _good boy_ want me to say, I wonder.”

I love you.

But Edmund didn’t say that, nor did Weston dare ask him to. Good boy rang particularly good, as well, the signification not that far off, and it took a couple of others more to have him come in his pajamas pants as if he was still a teenager having a wet dream. 

It sure felt like he was living in one, he thought, watching Edmund’s expression crumble with pleasure right in front of his eyes, sending another wave of arousal through his body. Gee, that man had ruined him.

It was in those moments that it was especially difficult to keep that balance they held, things said and things unsaid for both of their sakes, despite all of Weston’s internal struggles to keep it straight.

Of course, that balance tipped on one side as soon as the following evening. Weston had been sprawled on the mattress, his insides aching in the best of ways, slowly regaining his breathing, when Edmund had mumbled something about how eager he was – they had been talking about those stockings things, and the fact Weston had come when they had talked about a mix of skirt, bound wrists, lace panties and “my sweet girl” hadn’t passed as unnoticed as he had hoped to be. Edmund sounded way too awed by it for Weston’s comfort.

Immediately, his muscles slightly tensing, his mind had jumped to the conclusion that the other had noticed. Noticed something was wrong, or, at the very least, unexpected with his reactions. You are too much, Weston heard in that soft remark, too needy, too demanding. I know what you’re feeling for me.

It was too far away from the beginning, when he had at least kept pretending he didn’t like it.

And now, there was no way Edmund didn’t know. Now, he’d ask him to leave, since he couldn’t control himself and developed feelings.

No, Weston couldn’t have this happen. Not when they had so little time left – less than two weeks. That was too little, he wasn’t ready yet, wasn’t ready to stop. Not yet please.

Eyes screwed shut, Weston curled a bit tighter around himself, feeling the heat of Edmund’s chest still pressed against his back. _Why are you doing that?_ the other had asked, and he needed to find the right answer. The perfect answer. The one that would make him stay.

With his panicking mind, it wasn’t an easy task, but he still found it.

“To keep you happy,” he blurted out. Yes, that was good. It wasn’t even completely a lie. Weston did want to have the other happy, and it was only a great chance that what was keeping one happy was keeping both happy. “You are, right?”

Fuck, that was too much, right?

“I am,” Edmund said.

“Great.” No, no, no. Definitely weird. Weston shouldn’t have asked that question. He cursed his absence of filter, mourning. He couldn’t have that. “It’s a relief to hear,” he blurted out, his heart thrumming and hands trembling until he tightened them into fists. “Because of the next two months, you know,” he lied. “I don’t really want to be raped by the entire prison once you’ll be gone,” he added, feeling Edmund tense behind him, instead of relaxing and being glad Weston didn’t have feelings for him or anything.

“What?”

Gulping, Weston tucked his right hand between his thighs. “That’s what you said. You said if I couldn’t keep you satisfied you wouldn’t tell Harry and the guards to keep an eye on me and the others’ hands off. That’s what you said,” he repeated, his voice turning higher when he didn’t feel anything but still limbs and then nothing at all.

Oh no. Weston scrambled up and turned his widened eyes – and probably glistening too – to Edmund’s… shit Edmund’s were still as cautious. The other looked like that time he had feared Weston had developed feelings.

And he hadn’t forgotten what that conversation, what that look had led to. First agreement broken, and while it had been a relief to him at the time, to have the renewal happen right now would destroy him, Weston was certain.

“Fuck, that’s really what you’re thinking?” he asked, his voice rough, but Weston couldn’t see anything but those swiftly closing-off features, as if Edmund was scrambling to build walls, hills, barriers and barricades between them, stronger than Weston’s had been, and keep him as far as he could from him.

And Weston had no idea how to stop him from this.

Had no idea what answer the other wanted to hear.

His shoulders shook and Weston hiccupped a small sob as tears gathered in his eyes. The situation was spiraling out of his fingers, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. How to make it all alright again. So he did the only thing he could think of, a last attempt at saving the situation. “That’s what you said,” he whimpered, gazing uselessly when Edmund pressed his lips in a tight line and turned his head away. “I’m sorry.”

It didn’t save anything at all.

Instead, Weston felt his eyes brim with tears as they followed Edmund fling himself out of the bed and start to pace in the room, pulling his clothes back as if staying naked was more than he could bear at the moment and cursing under his breath.

He stopped when another sob fell past Weston’s gritted teeth. “Shit,” he said, his voice rough. Edmund then tugged him up. “It’s fine. Here, don’t- you don’t need to worry about that anymore.” He helped him put his trembling limbs in the pants’ holes. “No one’s going to touch you, even when I’ll be gone. I swear.” He slipped him awkwardly in his pajama top and tugged him to the door. While Weston was too choked up to speak. “Don’t cry, swe- It’s fine. You don’t have to come back here anymore. It’s over.” It was. It _was_. Weston hiccupped, lifting his hand to Edmund. But the other pushed him outside, barked “Milan, get him back to his cell,” and shut his own door close in his face, not even glancing one last time to Weston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! Hope you liked the revelation/outcome of the chapter... We're closer of the end than of the beginning, as you probably gathered so things are going to pick up
> 
> See you next chapter!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!

As soon as the loud metal clank resonated in his room, Weston loosened his jaw, and allowed the tears to finally fall. Up in his top bunker bed, he saw through his blurry vision Emerald sit up and turn his bewildered mug to him, obviously surprised to see him back so early, if not at all, or if not in such a state. Shame flared up to his face, adding to the heartache and he sniffled pitifully before rushing to his bed, burying his face in the uncomfortably thin pillow.

The night was awful.

Weston didn’t manage to sleep a wink, except in the early hours of the morning, for he was woken up by Emerald loudly jumping out of bed, making him startle. “Did he get bored, finally?” he demanded, a strange, eager look in his face, his usual disinterested look becoming almost manic.

With an aching head from all the crying he did and a stuffy nose, Weston groaned and turned his dried-wet cheek to the other side, facing the wall. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to answer Emerald’s question.

Fuck, did Edmund turn bored, on top of aware of Weston unreciprocated _feelings_? Possible.

As far as he knew, last night had thrown Weston’s entire world out of its axis, except in the worst way ever known. What was a little more, or a little less? Maybe Emerald was also right.

That’d explain the question, first thing in the morning, as well as the surprised face Emerald had worn, the previous night. He more than remembered the way his roommate had sworn he wouldn’t say no, should Edmund want the two of them to fuck. Was that what was going to happen? Probably. It’s over, Edmund had said, and Weston’s shoulders shook with another dry sob at the memory. He had no tears left at all.

“Leave me alone,” he mumbled to the mattress, wincing when he heard Emerald’s loud and clear snort.

“He really is that good, right? Damn, you think he’d be up to screw my brains out today? I kinda missed that dick of his. At least he knows how to use it, unlike so many other dudes here. And I’m so horny these days. Good luck on finding your next patron, by the way, not many like going sloppy seconds. No hard feelings, roommate, right?”

And, on those words, he left the cell, and left Weston to his misery.

He didn’t dare get out of the morning, not wanting to happen on Edmund, or any of his buddies, or anyone at all, really. Instead, he spent it all wondering whether Emerald was getting his brains screwed as of now, or perhaps Ashley, or perhaps someone else altogether, while feeling like someone was pouring acid straight on his heart.

One morning passed, and Weston dragged himself out of bed to the self when lunch rang. Luckily, or unluckily, Edmund was there, looking as usual, sitting between Frank, Coby, Matt and John, the sight of him as painful as a burning knife in his gut. Weston got a few looks thrown his way, but no one made a move to come talk to him, and most even looked away after a second. He painstakingly stuffed a couple of bites of food in his mouth before returning to hide in his cell.

It was forbidden. No one was supposed to remain in their cells during the afternoons, unless they were sick, but no guard came to knock at his door and take him to the doctor.

This way one day passed, then two, then three, then four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

On the eleventh morning, Weston woke up with his heart even heavier than it had been the past ten days. There was only two days left to him was the first thought coming upon him, though he didn’t know why he kept on counting.

In two days, Edmund would be free, and they would never see each other again. Two little days.

Fuck, Weston didn’t even had time to say goodbye. Or have a last kiss, although he doubted it would have been well-received, with Edmund throwing him out.

None of that mattered anymore. The only times he saw Edmund were at the self, with several tables between them, and he certainly never caught the other look his way, even absentmindedly. It was as if nothing had happened at all, and it hurt.

At least Weston was grateful his chair had simply moved away from the table, and not being filled by Emerald. Or Ashley. Or someone else.

It made him wonder if Edmund missed him, even a little bit. Wonder if all that happened mattered, even a little bit.

Probably not. As Emerald had said, this was just what happened, there. You seek protection, you seek relief – you pair with someone until you don’t need to anymore. Edmund probably didn’t need anyone anymore. There was a girl, Weston recalled, outside. A pretty girl who he had looked like – this was why he had been chosen, he remembered Edmund telling him so. Because he looked like the girl he fucked outside. It had been clear as water, even then, straight from their very first conversation, in the yard, on his first day.

Theirs had never been anything else but an agreement, with an expired date.

It was Weston, who had spoiled everything with his feelings. And now here he was, trying to mend and nurse his broken heart but not finding it in himself to regret what had happened, or even the feelings themselves.

How could he? His entire self yearned to go back a couple of weeks ago, when the feelings had been there but still secret, when Edmund had looked at him as if he was the most incredible person in his world, when Weston had only to reach out and he could kiss, hug, grab, fuck whenever he wanted to. It had been easy and blissful, and yet Weston had felt more alive than he ever had.

And now it was all gone, and Weston had to relearn how to live with the other’s constant presence by his side. He had to master it by the next two days, before Edmund would be literally severed from his heart. Forever. Never to be seen again.

Though maybe the Duke…

No. No he wouldn’t.

Weston had taken his decision, and would uphold it. Anyway, when he would tell James what had happened, those past months, the latter would dump him quickly enough, and Weston wouldn’t have any chance of being introduced to James’ new boss, and so to James’ boss’ friend. Even that would be severed.

He had warned his siblings already. There would be no change, no improvement, no new relation with the Duke, no more money and no opportunities. He had failed, and had gotten his heart broken to boot, though that last one he had kept to himself.

It hadn’t been hard for Sarah to hear it, nonetheless. But thankfully, she hadn’t pressed, simply told him to haste himself and come back to them. “As soon as I can. I can’t wait,” Weston had told her, his voice wobbly and his breaths hitching, not lying one bit. It had happened on the fifth day after that disastrous last conversation, his heart not having healed back in the least and longing for Edmund’s addictive warmth while Weston resisted as much as he could.

That eleventh day, however, the world seemed to be against him because he happened on Edmund and the buddies, right during the first afternoon he had decided to step out of his cell and to the yard. Thankfully, no one was with them, and Weston sighed before he turned around and attempted 

Fate wasn’t that kind with him, and Frank called him, “How’re you doing?” he bellowed in the empty yard, waving his arms around and acting as if Weston was a childhood friend he hadn’t seen since they both turned ten.

Feeling as if he were a mouse caught between seeing a treat and the cat guarding it and wondering whether it was overall worth it, Weston finally opted to cross the distance with unsure steps and stand hovering a bit far from them, while still closer than the past ten days had found him, his hands buried deep in his pockets, his shoulders brought up almost to his ears and his eyes staying clear off Edmund’s side of the group.

As in, the entire middle of it.

It didn’t matter. He switched them between Frank’s face, offering the man a tight smile, and the concrete, as well as sparing a second or two to glance at the tip of his shoes. “Alright,” was the best lie he could come up with, “you?”

“Aye. We haven’t seen you around the past days. You giving a shot at being a loner? Or you bored already?”

The tip of his ears warmed up even more when Weston heard that voice grumble a warning, “Frank,” that made his belly do wild somersaults. Shit. Not that he particularly needed the confirmation of how such a little thing could zip through his body, but Weston could have done without the entire parade of nervous energy marching through him, especially when the main cause was standing so near.

Edmund’s next words were whispered too low for Weston to catch them, but their furious tone didn’t escape him. It made him lift his eyes to his former lover, only to find them already looking at him.

That took him by surprise, as Edmund had never been looking at him, in all the time Weston had stared himself, and he immediately darted his eyes away, swallowing nervously and burying his hands deeper in his pockets, as if he could make his own tightened fists disappear this way, and his entire body with it.

The pull was too strong, as silence had fell on the small group as soon as Weston had come, the tentation to sneak another glance – the last one, he promised to himself, knowing already this was one he wouldn’t be able to keep – too hard to resist, and so Weston didn’t.

His eyes darted to his right, just for a split second, and his heart skipped several beats when they found Edmund’s and, instead of immediately averting and think of an excuse to just _leave_ , couldn’t budge away again. Pinned, trapped, like he imagined a bee felt while surrounded by honey, desperately trying to drown himself in the addictive presence.

No, this time it was Edmund who looked down, but not before Weston could glimpse the most befuddling flash of regret passing through his eyes and spreading to his entire features. With his mouth twitching in a grimace, his head lowered and tilted to one side, his body dropping and everything.

It caught him so out of guard Weston spent the rest of his day thinking about it, a wild hope growing more and more within his chest as he did. For why else would he regret anything, while looking at him?

The other must miss him, even slightly so, and Weston was resolved not to miss – or, like he did days ago, ruin – that last opportunity he had of… well, of trying to say goodbye. Physically so, if possible. Physically so had always come easier to him.

One last time. One last opportunity. Like a closure, of sort. He wasn’t as naïve as to think he only needed that closure to forget all about Edmund and the feelings he arbored for him, but at least it wouldn’t feel that hurtful yet, to have him here still, but not being able to _have_ him for himself.

But if the other was willing to disregard those feelings for one last night… well, Weston would do the same. He wasn’t above pretending, for Edmund’s sake. And his own too, at the same time, a little. He was a good actor, he could do it. He had to, if he wanted his goodbye, that went without saying. An unspoken condition Weston wasn’t above upholding.

Not if he could feel Edmund’s bare skin under his palms one last time, or hear himself be called only nice words, the way he had started to do, with a tone that Weston wanted to call loving. Could call loving, in the privacy of his head, even if it ended fucking him up. To hang on to Edmund’s ramblings about this or that, feeling his heart turn fond and his smile longing. To kiss him like he wished he could, letting all the love and care and warmth pour out of him, and hoping Edmund could feel even a tad of it, hoping it could be appreciated, even if he didn’t like that it was coming from him. Truthfully, Weston didn’t care if Edmund preferred picturing someone else or something like that, as long as he wouldn’t be too aware of it. 

Thus, he went to find Harry Baivey, a guard he knew worked for the mafia – for the Duke, more than probably – and had been assigned to Edmund’s security and such, to ask him to have the door of his cell unlocked, and Milan – if possible – waiting for him this very night.

“Sure, boss,” Harry said, his features closed but nodding once with enough strength Weston feared the guy would break his own neck.

The boss part unnerved him as well, not having thought the guards would have to report to Edmund. For the rest of the day, Weston waited anxiously for one of them to come back to him, with a weird pitying sneer on their face, and say the boss absolutely didn’t want to have anything to do with him anymore.

Nothing of that happened.

In fact, when Edmund’s door opened once he knocked on it, Milan walking back the corridor to leave them alone in a clear show of trust Weston thought wasn’t totally unwarranted, neither Harry or Milan had reported anything. Edmund’s eyes obviously did a double take on him, and his brows lifted with surprise to see him here.

Before Weston could deliver the nice speech he had thought about, Edmund sighed, his hand tightening on the doorframe and his eyes averting, in a similar posture than the one he had on that afternoon. “You…” he said, his voice tired and tight with another emotion, sighing again. His mouth pursed in what he could only describe as a grimace, and his nose scrunched, “You don’t have to worry. I told them, I told Milan and Baivey, Marsh and Heverd and the others, too. They’ll watch over everyone else, make sure they live you alone. Frank can be clumsy, but he’s not malicious, and he won’t do anything to harm you. I’m pretty sure he likes you, that’s why he joked around. It wasn’t funny, I know, he won’t do it again, but it was done with harmless intentions. Don’t worry, truly. Goodnight.” And he started to slide his door close again, without having listened to what Weston had wanted to speak about.

“Wait!”

“I don’t know what else you might want to hear. I’m sorry. You’re not going to get raped, even while I’m out. You’ll be fine. Really.”

Frowning, Weston shook his head, his hands waving in a similar fashion. Edmund’s face looked most sincere, but “That’s not at all what I wanted to talk to you about,” he grumbled.

“Oh.” Yes, oh. “What can I do for you, then?” he asked, his face perfectly schooled so that nothing transpired at first glance. Weston, however, had been closely acquainted with that face and every little twitch of it for the past three months – he wasn’t feeling generous enough to include the first month, but he could have. The corridor was poorly lit, but the way Edmund’s body tensed and half-hid itself behind the door was unmistakable, especially with how unexpected it looked.

It was as baffling as the glimpse of regret, fueled by the little speech the other just made, and it encouraged him to trust he wasn’t mistaken. “Lots. But only if you want to.” Edmund choked out a laugh at that, finally lifting his eyes from Weston’s shoes. He still wasn’t looking at his face, more at some point in the empty corridor, but at least it allowed Weston to look at his face more easily. He drank it in. “What’s so funny?”

“I don’t understand you. I don’t understand what you want.”

“I thought I was pretty clear, though,” Weston mumbled, his face warming slightly and his nose twitching.

“Aye. But you’re a good actor, aren’t you?” His eyes darted back to Edmund, brows furrowing. “Look, I told you, I’m sorry, I should’ve taken the hint way earlier. I forgot about it. It’s stupid, I know, but you made me- I forgot. There. I don’t know what more I can do. I don’t,” he repeated, finally stepping out of his hiding place and turning his gaze to Weston. Looking at him extendedly, his eyes glistening, the left corner of his mouth tugging up although the look of his features remained sad. “I understand you must be scared, but I don’t know what else I can do expect swear I’m not-”

It took a little bit of time, through his pounding heart and his bated breath at feeling at last Edmund’s full attention on him and him only, before Weston’s eyes widened as he figured his words out and he spluttered. “I’m not fucking scared! What the- Is that what you’ve been thinking? How stubborn can you be?”

“It’s what you told me! What else can I be thinking?”

“I never said that.”

“You said I was… You said you only slept with me so you wouldn’t get fucking raped for the next two months.”

“That’s what _you_ said!”

“Y-” Edmund forcefully bit off whatever it was he wanted to say, his pointed finger curling and then uncurling until his whole palm was raised in a placating gesture. “Yes,” he said, speaking lowly and visibly making every effort to keep his calm, “I did. I wanted to-”

“What?” he breathed out, crossing the distance between them and stopping one step away. “What do you want?”

Lifting his head but not stepping back or closing the door in his face, Edmund’s Adam apple bobbed. He looked away. “Nothing,” he rasped. “Don’t be scared. Nothing’s gonna happen to you.”

Refusing to allow this to be his goodbye, Weston felt his face twist as he flung his foot at the door. “I want you,” he said, staring right into the other’s eyes and seeing them widen. “And I’m not scared.”

“You said-”

“Yeah. I was lying. You want the truth?” Edmund’s eyes were telling him no, but Weston was started. No stopping now. He would get it out, and see where that bring him. Where that bring the two of them. “Truth is I only said that because I thought that was what you wanted to hear. Truth is I haven’t felt like I was just doing my part of a stupid agreement for weeks. Truth is I want…” he gulped, his eyes stinging, “I just want to say goodbye.”

Blurry Edmund’s face looked recognizing and without long warm hands cupped Weston’s face and soft breath brushing against his lips. “So you don’t hate me?”

“No,” he croaked, a single tear escaping him when he furrowed his brows at the tentative question. “No I don’t hate you.”

The next question remained stuck in his throat, but Edmund leaned forward and brushed his lips against his, and it felt like an answer, nonetheless.

With a shaking breath, Weston lifted a trembling hand and bunched it in the other’s uniform, feeling arms wrap around his waist and guide him inside the room. Once the door closed behind him, he waited for the tilt that would make them tear clothes off each other, pull to the bed, or the wall, or fuck even the floor, he didn’t care. The tilt never came.

There was an urgency in the way their lips moved and kissed, but not a frantic one. Yet Weston felt it just the same. Differently. Unexpectedly. But just the same as his. It was in the hitched sighs against his skin, in the firm way the arm around his waist was pulling him closer, in the small aborted pressing of his hips, in the tenderness with which his face was cradled, in their lips moved and pressed languidly, unhurriedly, as if they had all the time in the world. It was everywhere he looked, surrounding him a thrilling mix of affection and passion, and warming him to the core.

Softly, slowly, Weston’s own attitude gentled down, slowed down. The hand clutched in Edmund’s hair loosened, his other moved from shoulder to Edmund’s hand and tentatively interlaced their fingers. Their lips parted at somewhat regular intervals, allowing for their chest to brush with a couple of heavy breaths, before they met again. They didn’t stray very far from each other’s either, Weston not wanting to lose even one second and Edmund probably – hopefully – sharing the sentiment.

Their hands, however, had begun to roam against clothes and then, when those were unhurriedly pulled aside, bare skin, their sighs becoming mutually muffled when they escaped one of them. 

Tingles erupted down his spine when they blindly shuffled to the bed, Edmund’s hands slowing down his fall as he followed him, kneeling between his thighs. His mouth trailed down his neck, leaving open, wet kisses along his wake, making him shiver. Down to the arch of his throat, on the bump of his Adam apple, the dip between his collarbone, down his sternum.

Tensing, Weston tightened his hold on Edmund’s waist when he felt the kisses, that had turned lighter, fluttering above the skin in a mirroring way of what was happening under it, reach his belly button. “Just a goodbye,” he reminded both of them – himself mostly – speaking past the lump in his throat.

It took him a couple of seconds to glance down, meet Edmund’s surprised look and not listen to his pounding heart, that already had forgotten all about carefulness and endings, and give in.

“Really? I mean, you sure? You’re not doing that because of me, right?”

“No.” To be honest, it hadn’t crossed his mind. “It’s for me. Because I don’t want you to do that.” Because I don’t want it to be harder to move on from, and why would you be so… so…

He grimaced at his own train of thoughts, and Edmund seemed to understand. At least, he didn’t press further, simply acquiesced and moved up his body to lay another kiss, first on his cheek to have him melt, and then on his lips, trying to make up for what Weston forbade.

Things didn’t hasten this time either. They both seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement on making everything last, to commit every patch of skin, every sensation, to memory. This felt like a goodbye, indeed, Weston thought, and his eyes stung with unshed tears. None of them talked, except to make sure the other was alright, which added solemness to the entire thing.

Even the feeling of Edmund reaching for the lube, and then fingers breaching his hole, loosening the muscle, taut from sorrow and concentration, and preparing him for what would follow.

Before words were spoken, murmured against skin like kisses of their own, moans spilled past their lips. The yearning inside Weston’s loins had grown more acute the more Edmund moved closer, and the other was still taking his time, fingers doing then nothing more than making him ache for more and his hips buck sharply, his cock grinding on Edmund’s stomach, when he pressed his thumb on that thin spot of skin behind his balls.

Come on, Weston wanted to say, once his hips were rolling in time with Edmund’s fingers. He bit the words back every time, teeth sinking in his tongue to prevent himself from inadvertently putting an end to this goodbye. A part of his mind Weston forced himself to listen to knew this was made to last. To be later reckoned. And he would relish in it, in the memory of pleasantly his mind was buzzy, or the pressure of what a couple of fingers felt like, slowly fucking him, or the fresh taste of Edmund’s toothpaste on his tongue, or the labored sound of their mingled breathing.

The fucking that followed didn’t stray far from the mood they were both losing themselves in, actually coming close to a name Weston tried not to think too much about. Teeth grinding, he tightened his hold on Edmund’s hand as a half-sob almost escaped him.

I love you, he wanted to say. Please don’t leave. Promise me you’ll be there, in two months, when I’ll be free. Promise this goodbye isn’t a goodbye, but a see you soon. Promise you can love me. Me, Weston, not a drug dealer, not the pretty boy from the prison, not a craved distraction. Just me, please, please, please.

He was ready to beg, he would for this, because if he didn’t tonight, when would he ever have the chance to again? He would, because it seemed something Edmund wanted, despite not having mentioned it for a couple of months, now.

Couldn’t be that hard, could it? Weston wasn’t above giving in a bit of pride, was he? Especially when he could already feel his muscles tensing, pleasure flowing through his veins, building more and more in his groin, heightening with each irregular brush of Edmund’s cock to his prostate.

Licking his lips to wet back his fry mouth, Weston snuck one hand to his own dick, giving up the will to make this last forever. Before he could say it, however, beg like the other wanted to, Edmund snatched his wrist and pinned it to the mattress, entwining their fingers.

His heart ached at the sweet gesture. “Don’t,” Edmund said, their cheeks brushing together from where he rested his weight a bit more fully on Weston’s body, “I want you to come like that.”

Time stopped, Weston’s heart stopped, and his eyes widened.

Oh no.

Not that. “I can’t,” he gasped, his ears burning. Thankfully, Edmund’s hips slowed down and he pushed himself up, enough so he could look at him. Not letting go of his hand, however, which abated some of Weston’s sudden embarrassment. He didn’t want that, didn’t want to disappoint him – why did it have to happen? It was their last night, their goodbye, it should be perfect – but he had to tell him, now. It’d ruin everything. “I can’t do that, I can’t, Edmund.”

He closed his eyes, feeling his nose scrunch. Bitterness made his tongue and the back of his throat sting. He remembered the countless tries, remembered the disappointed faces that never failed to follow. Taking a deep breath, forehead creasing, Weston tried again. _Focus_. This was now or never, and he would try, he wanted to, he wished he could, but he already knew how it’d end.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, eyes fluttering open. The look of Edmund’s face was enough to send a shot of heat through his body, but Weston knew it wouldn’t be enough, that he was… “I’ve never been able to, it doesn’t work, I can’t make myself… I need…”

“Let’s try?”

He couldn’t say he didn’t anticipate the question. “You’ll be disappointed,” he warned, a grimace twisting his mouth. Really, there wasn’t anything he wanted less at the moment, and yet here it was. About to happen. What a goodbye. What a promise I’d see you soon. There was no way now Edmund would ever-

“Me? Never,” Edmund said as his hips stopped their rocking motions and began to build back a pace of thrusting. His hand moved to Weston’s thigh, helping holding it a certain way as his hips angled more precisely, and Weston’s vision turned white. “I can’t,” he heard him say in that hoarse, fucked out voice of his, “I can’t, sweet one, fuck, let’s just try beautiful. Don’t think, alright? Just, focus on the feelings, it’ll feel so good, I want to make you feel so good, love, if you’d just let me. Let me, Weston, that’s good, go on, don’t think, it’s alright, trust me.”

Sometimes, the head of his dick would catch on Edmund’s stomach. He didn’t know if it was this seldom tiny brush, or something else, but the world around him turned bright, bright and blurry, and his free hand scrambled for something to hold onto, as his other tightened its grip on Edmund’s. Their hips were moving in synchronization, born from months of pleasure and familiarity. It felt good, so good, and his dick throbbed, pleasure coiling hot in his groin, reaching higher, and higher, higher, higher until it all came sweeping him off. The muscles of his belly tightened, the words being whispered in his skin blending together, the burning drag along his insides maddening, and warmth spilled across his stomach, sending shivers up his body.

As pleasure slowly abated from his senses, transformed into a comfortable background that followed Edmund’s newly-angled, slowly rocking thrusts, and Weston became more and more aware of his surroundings, the plush mattress under his back, the drags of Edmund’s body atop his, the soft rumble of praise and assuring words reaching his ears, the cooling trace of pleasure on his stomach, the twitch of the hand gripping his thigh, and the sweet taste of his breath on his lips, his shoulders shook with a sob.

“Shh, it’s alright. Are you hurting?” Weston shook his head. No, no he wasn’t hurting. Nothing hurt, for now. “Good. So don’t cry, alright? That was good, you’re so great, sweet one, so hot. Can’t believe you came to see me. Fuck, I wish-”

But Edmund tilted his head down and kissed him forcefully as his hips faltered, pleasure taking a told out of him as well, and the skin under Weston’s hands trembled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the new chapter!  
> There was a problem with the subscribed mails when I posted the last chapter, last week, so be sure to have read it before you do this one :)
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

“Got everything in order?”

“I do.”

“Well then,” the officer waved his hand to the left. “Hope that served as a lesson, and we won’t see you again.”

Weston didn’t know what he expected as he stepped out of the door, his arms immediately wrapping around his thin shirt, wildly inappropriate for winter. He looked around for any nearby cars, unknown ones that might be parked not far from here, but there was nothing.

Pressing his lips together as to swallow back disappointment – he had no right to be disappointed, he didn’t know why he was – he glanced one last time to the small, empty parking lot before he turned around and started walking briskly to the nearest bus stop.

It was fine, he kept telling himself, he had expected it. It had been around two months since Edmund had been freed, and Weston didn’t think the other recalled his own release date. To be fair, he probably never mentioned it at all. And well, it was over. Done. Broken apart.

It had been two months.

Two whole, long months.

Two months since that day Weston had spent two months thinking about, wishing he could go back to, wishing he could have done something, said something more, something else.

Not to make Edmund stay. There was no way he could have stayed. But… he didn’t know. To make him wait. To have him wait here, two months later.

That had been a particularly selfish thought, he supposed, shrugging to himself and sitting down on the small waiting bench. The bus would be there in a couple of minutes, the prison’s computer had told him so – he had been able to access the computer room, after Edmund’s departure, and pretty much anywhere he wanted to go, just like the other had sworn. It had left a bad taste in his mouth, at first, and then he had spent all his afternoons there, with the constant need to cry, but feeling closer to the man who wasn’t there anymore.

The ride to his town wasn’t exceedingly long, nor was it truly short either, and Weston spent it willing his brain to unsadden itself and his legs jumping and jittery. The clock of the bus driver was broken, and the phone in his back pocket long discharged, and so he had no idea whether he was late or not until the bus neared the well-known gates, and he spotted the various groups of high schoolers barely getting out of their classes.

His chest tightened as he got off the bus, his eyes searching for the familiar hair as he stood a bit farther away, remembering very well his own feeling of awkwardness whenever Sean would take great delight in attracting all his friends’ attention on himself, when his brother would stop by to take him home by car. He had spent his entire teenage years swearing to himself he would never be _that_ big brother, and didn’t intend on going back on that self-vow.

He only needed to catch a glimpse, he promised himself, only one glimpse before he’d have to go back to the apartment and have that discussion with-

“Weston!” came from his right, snapping him right out of his thoughts as his eyes found the young girl across the street. They quickly took in Roisin’s overall state, noting the wellness of her stature and the happiness in her eyes as his lips stretched and he let out a fractioned sigh he hadn’t realized had been weighting on his shoulders.

Before he could say anything, his sister had crossed the street and ran into his arms, wrapping her own around his shoulders and squeezing tightly enough to make all breath leave his lungs.

“You’re back,” she murmured in the thin cloth of his shirt, her face pressed against his shoulder, before she took a step back, her nose scrunched and her mouth twisted in a grimace. “Ew. You smell like you’ve been hiding in a cardboard box in a closet for the past months. And don’t let ma’ see you like that, she’d have your head. Gosh, Weston, we missed you! You were gone for so long! Where were you? Sean wouldn’t tell me anything. Oh! You must come home with us! So much happened while you were gone!”

“Really?”

Roisin nodded, humming absentmindedly, before her eyes widened as they searched the crowd of students. “Caoimhe!” she called, then, proving to be Sean’s sister more than anything, “Weston’s here!”

His youngest sister didn’t take long to cross the street as well, clinging to him the same way Roisin had just done and even not complaining when Weston shoved the small wisps of hair that had escaped her braid away from her face when they finally broke their hold. “Hey, wow,” he cleared his throat, his smile dimming slightly, “I’m sorry I missed your birthday, Cece. I’ll make it up to you, okay? I don’t have any present here, but-”

“It’s fine,” his sister shrugged. “Are you coming back home with us?”

Gulping, Weston sighed, one hand coming out of his sister’s hold to scratch at the side of his nose. He wished he would, but “There’s something I need to do first.” The declaration was met with a bunch of protests, and assurances that whatever it was could wait a bit more. “It can’t. I’ll come see you as soon as I can, but I have to talk to James.”

Caoimhe nodded reluctantly, but Roisin snorted, crossing her arms in front of her chest and her eyes flashed with something Weston hated seeing in his sister’s gaze. “James? What could you possibly have to tell him that’s so important? You spent the last six months with him, already.”

“I- You- How do you know that?”

“No one told me-”

“Told us,” Caoimhe clarified.

“-but we’re not idiots. Sean’s pissed with that, and if he hadn’t-” She pressed her lips together, before shrugging. “Who else could you be with?”

“If Sean hadn’t… what?”

“I told you, lot happened while you were gone,” Roisin retorted, but her pouting faltered, and assuaged Weston that, whatever it was Sean had or hadn’t done, his sister considered it a good thing.

“Alright. I have to go, and so do you, the bus ’s going to be here soon. I’ll drop by soon, alright? Tell the parents I’ll call them tonight.” As his clothes would be scattered through the windows. Perhaps not tonight. “Tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

He kissed both their cheeks and sent them to the bus, before getting on the one that would take him to the apartment he shared with James. And to the conversation he had been anticipating.

That probably made him an awful person, but Weston couldn’t let go of the nearing sense of relief that threatened to surpass all the others mixed emotions coursing and curling in his stomach. Dread, fear because he had no idea how to do any of this the most gently possible, and guilt of course, because James was a sweet guy, and he didn’t want to hurt him yet was about to.

But he couldn’t keep going like that. It wasn’t fair to James, It wasn’t fair to himself and to everybody.

And so Weston stood in the middle of their studio, forcing himself to keep his eyes on James’ face as he told him the truth, and as the other’s features crumbled and his eyes startled to gleam in the shadowed apartment.

“I’m sorry,” Weston repeated for the seventeenth time, his voice tight but not from tears as they hadn’t spilled down. He had spent the past two months moping and crying, but not for James’ presence. “I’ll just… go.”

That sounded like the right conclusion, and so on those final words he turned to their chest of drawers, not noticing how James ran to him until he collided with his back.

“You can’t. No, Weston, you can’t leave! I’m working for the Duke! I am!”

“I-I know…”

“Then you can’t leave me! You can’t!”

“James,” Weston slowly turned around, his hands half up, blinking slowly at the other’s face, “I can’t stay. I… It wouldn’t be fair to you-”

“I don’t care! I love you, Weston, you can’t leave me. I don’t care about that other guy. He’s… he’s not there, right?” Utterly confused, Weston still shook his head. “Then, please, don’t leave me. We can fix this. We’re strong enough. I love you.”

“I love him,” Weston softly confessed, the tip of his ears warming up at hearing the words spoken aloud, for once with someone else in the room, hearing them too.

“I don’t care! Since he’s not here, why do you try to break up with me, then? I don’t care if you love him, it’s fine, you’ll forget about him one day.”

“You can’t want to wait for me until one day!” Weston roughly protested, snatching his hand away. He couldn’t believe what James was saying.

“So what, you want to be alone?”

“I-” It wasn’t the question. It wasn’t what mattered. Why didn’t James throw him out, insulting him with every name he could think of and damning him to the deepest pit of hell? “No, but-” his voice wavered.

“I’ve been working for the Duke for the past five months, Weston, you can’t leave me. I’ve been doing this for you.”

“Yes, I know, and I can’t never thank you enough but-”

“But nothing! You can’t want to break up with me for so little.”

“It’s not little.”

For James it was.

For James, sleeping with another man for months, lying to him on the phone for countless calls and falling in love with someone else wasn’t a big deal. Wasn’t worth putting behind a two years relationship and all the memories and concessions they did for one another.

And so Weston stayed.

It was weird, those following days, though not by James’ fault. The other man, his… boyfriend, acted as if nothing had happened at all. No Edmund, no prison, no separation, nothing. It wasn’t Weston’s case, however. As much as James had seemed certain of it, he couldn’t forget Edmund as easily as this, just by being back home.

Their studio didn’t feel like home, and Weston spent all his days and nights there, the bakery having of course found someone else to replace him, leaving him without a job. The only times he went out were for lunches and dinners with his family, when James left for entire days, going on missions and meetings for the Duke.

“Alright. What’s that long face about, half a scoop? You haven’t cracked a smile since you got there.”

The off-hand remark made Weston’s head jerk up, and he threw an apologetic glance around the room, even though there was no one there but him and Sean. “Sorry. I have, I’m-”

“It’s fine. Of course you did. No one could stand be this mopey all the time, least of all you.” If Sean knew… “I’ve just known you happier than this like, every single day of your life. I worry. That’s my job.”

“Can’t someone be sad for one single day?” Weston muttered, glad Sean had been absent the first time he had come to see his family, and hadn’t seen him sporting that same long face.

“Ha! So you admit it.” His brother waited for him to start explaining, but Weston kept his lips pressed tight. There was nothing he could say, not without talking about the prison and… James didn’t deserve that. Weston knew his brother, knew he would be furious on his behalf, and indifferent of all the sacrifices and compromises James had done for him, was still making, even as they spoke. “Anyway, if you’re not feeling too sad yet, I know something that’ll cheer you up.”

He stayed silent for a moment, before lifting his eyes to his brother’s silly overly grinning face, which never failed to make his mouth curl in a small smile. “What is it?” Everyone had hinted about something great having happened during his absence, and Weston admitted he was growing really curious about it.

For a moment, he forgot about his heartache and mess of life, and felt his mouth return his brother’s grin. “I got an offer for a better job!” Sean squealed, enjoying the way Weston’s lips fell open and his eyes widened. “Happened, well, around two months ago. I was minding my own business, you see, and then there’s that guy, well-dressed and all, who comes to me. Ya Sean Connolly, he asks me. So I say yeah, and I follow him when he tells me to. His boss’ got a job for me, he says, and so he takes me, you’ll never guess it, to his boss who’s-”

“The Duke?” he breathed out, feeling his throat clog with some feeling he couldn’t pinpoint.

“The Duke himself, half a scoop. He tells me to sit down, already knows my name and all. We’ve noticed you’ve been working for us for quite some time, he tells me,” Weston nodded enthusiastically, feeling his eyes sting with happy tears, his grin probably eating his face. “I’ll spare you the details, but I’ve been working under him since then,” Sean snapped his fingers, “without a trial or anything.”

“That’s so great,” Weston said.

“That’s one way to put it. Because it didn’t stop at that,” he added, as Weston’s vision blurred and his stomach churned. “He got dad, for the driver of someone who works for him, too. Way better schedule, and pay, and way less dangerous, you know, for dad. And he had something for Sarah, too. At the rhythm this is going, we’ll be able to move the parents to a better place. The babies will-”

“-be able to go to college,” Weston finished for him, his voice croaking.

Sean’s smile dimmed a little. “You too, Weston. If you wanted.” Weston shook his head. School had never been his thing. He wasn’t a big reader, or a philosopher, like- He just liked to bake. “Fine.”

“So what- what does he look like?” he asked, absolutely wanting to keep his mind away from anything that could remind him of Edmund. “The Duke?”

“Doesn’t look like the friendliest of guy, that’s for sure. A bit…” Sean mimed tightening a tie and made a chocking grimace. “Uptight and formal, but I suppose that comes with the job. But he seems fair. Trustworthy guy.”

“You be careful. You know the stories they say about him…”

“Yeah. Anyway, I suppose I should… I mean, I’ve got your boyfriend to thank for that, don’t I? Don’t we all?”

This was what made Weston avert his eyes. Yes, they did. Immediate offer, for several persons as well, and no trial before starting the job – it screamed personal favor. James had done as he had said he would, and told his boss about his family. And now, Weston owed the improvement of his family’s future to his boyfriend.

That boyfriend he didn’t love anymore. That same boyfriend Weston couldn’t touch, couldn’t hug and couldn’t kiss without feeling sick. That very same boyfriend whose lovemaking the past night had made him feel nothing. Hollow. Dirty.

His boyfriend, who had forgiven him for cheating on him and who had done everything in his power to make Weston happy.

“We do,” Weston acquiesced, his chin wobbling once so hard he had to bit his tongue.

“Hey. What’s wrong?”

No, he couldn’t say it. To say it would only make it more real, more yearned for. It was fine there, in the prison, but he couldn’t bring Edmund to his family, not when he had no way to reach out to him. Edmund had been a friend of the Duke, but it seemed… he shouldn’t ask.

“Come on, Weston. You can tell me anything, you know.”

“I… I met someone.” Screwing his eyes shut, feeling his face warm up at the admission, the only thing he could hear for a while was Sean’s sharp intake of breath. “A guy. While I was,” he waved his hand, gulping, “away. And I… love him.”

“Where is he, now? What happened?”

“Gone. It’s… I knew it wasn’t meant to last but I… I fell in love. And now I miss him.”

According to Sean, it wasn’t complicated at all. “Dump James,” his brother told him, not knowing Weston had tried, but hadn’t managed to. Not seeing how it would ruin their entire careers, all their futures, all their projects. With the snap of fingers. “What, you’re staying with him?”

“He says we’ll make it work.”

“Right,” his brother snorted, “you mean he’s mostly well-aware you’re worth better than him, and wants to keep you to feel better about himself, no matter what. He’s not in love with you, he’s a leech. Drug dealers are shifty, Weston.”

“Your trustworthy boss is a drug dealer,” Weston retorted weakly, and Sean frowned.

As much as Weston hadn’t wanted to, those last words stuck with him. They blended with others, others that had barely left his mind those past two months, because they had been amongst the last ones Edmund had told him. “Don’t trust your boyfriend this much, Weston. You’ll only get disappointed.”

Those words remained as baffling as they had been the first time he had heard them. Weston had waited for the past days for James to reveal himself untrustworthy, on edge and waiting for an imaginary second shoe to drop out of nowhere, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Edmund had mentioned something about drug dealers being shifty people, as well.

But Edmund wasn’t there, and the only link Weston perhaps had with him was him being a friend of the Duke, who was his brother’s, sister’s, father’s, and boyfriend’s boss.

Boss. Still months later, the term made Weston snort in his beer. Still wasn’t the Green Line. Yet even his brother had started to use the term when he talked about the Duke.

To him, those were links enough, close enough, but a part of his mind always reminded him that all of those would be cut off were he to enquire about Edmund to any of them. And to involve the Duke… that sounded scary, and not really something someone – who had never met or seen the man in the first place – should ask.

Weston twirled the last of his beer one last time, gazing unseeingly to it, when he heard someone sit down heavily next to him. Without fail, despite Weston not glancing to his new seatmate for a second, the “Hey there, you’re on your own pretty boy?” came up next.

The name hadn’t been missed, and it dawned on him just then how he hadn’t heard it uttered once, in the past months. Not until Edmund had stopped saying it himself. Just like he had promised.

Thus, instead of a flirting smile, or a shy one, or a roll of his eyes, or even the – well deserved – scoff thrown his way, all the dude next to him got for his lame catchphrase was a loud sniffle, and the opportunity to watch his eyes and nose turn quickly red, the way they did when he was holding back tears, before he hurriedly finished his drink and rushed out of the bar.

Hands buried deep in his pockets, scarf brought up to the middle of his nose, he took the long walk home, knowing James was already there – he had spent the past night who-knew-where, on a mission for the Duke – and not feeling impatient or glad at all to see him, despite knowing he should. It was a disaster. Weston’s life was a disaster, and he didn’t know what to do to make it better.

_See Edmund again._

Yes, he didn’t know what – within reason – he could possibly do to make it better.

It wasn’t supposed to. He wasn’t in jail anymore, was free, had preserved his family from worrying too much about him, had a boyfriend who loved him so much he was willing to forgive him for cheating on him, had… no job but would find one soon, his family was finally getting the pay and recognition they all deserved, they were all healthy, and it was all… great?

It was his first heartbreak, that was all. Weston had no idea how to live through it long enough to make it go away. He’d find out, was his last thought as he neared the front door of the old building, where a tall, burly guy wearing a suit nodded at him.

“Um… hello,” Weston said, dialing the code before shrugging to himself. Believe it or not, it wasn’t the weirdest thing he had seen in that building, although he wondered for a second if he shouldn’t warn the tall guy that, dressed like that, he would probably attract every thief or broke high schooler around.

He was about to turn around to recommend tall guy to be on his guard, when another man, older looking, normal heighted, jumped to his feet as soon as he caught sight of him and started walking toward him.

“Hello?” Weston said, when the man stopped in front of him and started scrutinizing his face as if he only had a vague idea what the person he was supposed to meet looked like, and thought it was him.

“Connolly Weston?” the man asked, and Weston’s eyes widened. What did this man wanted to talk to him about? “Brother of Sean Connolly?”

“Yes.”

“You live in apartment 811, on the eight floor, in that very same building, with a certain James Gardner, who claims to be working for the Duke?”

Oh shit. “Yes. Something happened?” James hadn’t had any mission this afternoon, and had been well when Weston had got out, to look for job and then have a single beer at the bar, not planning on leaving the apartment himself for his day off, as he had said.

“Kurt Simmons. Pleased to meet you, sir.” Not very helpful, but Weston still shook the offered hand. He had manners, thank you very much. “I’ve been asked to give you this,” he handed him a single envelope, “and hope we’ll see you there, and well. Have a nice day, sir.”

“Um, yeah, you too,” Weston answered, but Kurt had already turned around. When he reached the ground floor, both Kurt and tall guy were gone, and thus didn’t need any warning.

His worries disappeared when he opened the envelope, however, only to discover two invitations for The Party.

Mouth slightly hanging open, Weston hurried back up the eight flight of stairs.

The Party was The Party. An event happening every year or so, for the close, chosen circle amongst every employees of the Kid. Those invited weren’t really considered employees, but friends. Friends. Of the Kid. Of the Duke. And of Battlers.

Edmund- no.

James. And James got them there. That was… something. Unexpected, but very much welcomed.

“We’re invited!” Weston announced before the door finished to close behind him, making James’ head snap up to him and frown in confusion. “At The Party.” James’ eyes widened comically large. “Someone just gave me these and-”

Amongst his ragged breaths – sports had never really been his strong suit, and he just climbed eight floors in a hurry and, well, he wasn’t getting any younger – James had scrambled to his feet and to him, snatching the invitations and goggling at them, choking on his breath.

“How so?” he heard him breath out.

Weston giggled. Was there really need to wonder? It wasn’t because of him they were invited. “Your boss must be really impressed with you! You’ll have to introduce me.” The Duke sounded scary, but for his boyfriend, Weston would make an effort. Sean seemed to like him, despite him being in the drugs, so he couldn’t be that intimidating.

“Of course.” James giggled as well. “Can’t wait.”


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The awaited chapter!
> 
> (And a long note at the end)
> 
> Enjoy!

The place – a mansion, really – was amazing. There was no better word to describe it, and Weston spared a thought to lament pictures were forbidden because he was sure his dad would have loved the beauty of the place, with its mouldings and carved balconies, large windows and porch.

“Fuck that’s… wow,” Weston said, before turning to his boyfriend. “You’ve ever been there?”

“Yes, yes.”

Ever since they had received the invitations, James hadn’t stopped being jittery and anxious about the idea of “dragging Weston here,” “bore him to no end and ruin a perfectly good evening,” or “force him to mingle with rich folks”. He had tried not to let the words get to him – it was true he had never been the most fan of parties, but still. James still looked convinced Weston would hate every second there.

“We’ll leave soon,” he promised him, “stay just until I’m seen by my mates, and then we’ll be going,” he repeated again as they showed their invitations to the concierge who eyed them sideway.

“First floor, the apartment on your left. Have a nice evening, gentlemen.”

“Thank you. It’s fine,” he told James, once they entered the entry hall or whatever. “I know it’s important for you. I can behave myself for a couple of hours. I’m not five,” he added under his breath, that last part thankfully remaining unnoticed by his boyfriend.

His sweet boyfriend, who he was so ever grateful for.

Was it horrid of him to rather spend his night here, attending a party where he didn’t know anyone, instead of fucking his boyfriend? It certainly felt like it.

“I’ll go see if they’re here already,” James told him as soon as they stepped inside the apartment the party was taking place in, his voice high with stress. “I’ve got business to catch on. I’ll find you soon, alright?”

“Sure.”

Nodding one last time, James smiled tightly at him before turning around and rushing straight for another door.

Gulping, Weston shifted his weight from foot to foot for a couple of seconds, gazing at all the very well-dressed men and women, sipping what must be real champagne and nibbling on macarons and other bouchées, one hand coming to run along his tie and collar absentmindedly.

Him and his rented suit – the cheapest one they could find, although Weston had insisted they start, you know, spending all that money James had started to make for that special occasion. “We can’t,” James had said, “we need to look unthreatening. Everyone is very proud, there, we don’t want to offense any big names by being better dressed than them.” – felt rather out of place there, and an unfamiliar awkwardness doused on him.

Weston strode to the buffet, sighing a little in relief when he found it mostly empty of anyone, except the counterman, with who Weston talked about recipes and demanding clients for a couple of minutes.

“Sounds like you know your baking,” the counterman, Rob, said.

“I kind of do, yeah.” Taking a deep breath, Weston offered a smile both friendly and professional. Might as well try it, right? He should have taken a resume. It would have made him look like an idiot, maybe, but he can’t keep on living James’ salary all his life, can he? “Been working there since I was sixteen, actually. Same bakery, on Blinden Road, number 46. Until a couple of months ago. Now, I’m looking for a job.”

“Oh,” Thankfully, Rob didn’t look bored at all, if not suddenly a bit suspicious. “Why did you stop working there?”

 _Because of prison._ Grimacing slightly, Weston babbled something about wanting to try something more challenging than the small family-run bakery. Damn, he’s going to miss working for Sam and her husband. Challenging wasn’t what he was going for, if he was honest with himself, but well, Rob wore a perfectly tailored suit, worked for a mafia-organized reception, and offered champagne-tasting macarons, so.

Before he could hear Rob’s answer, the other’s eyes widened minutely and he gave a nod of greeting, only indication before a presence was felt behind him. “And I don’t think I know you,” a man said, as Weston turned around, his heart in his throat.

His hand flew automatically to the inside pocket of his vest, “I’ve got an invitation,” he assured, as the man – tall, very tall, with sandy short hair and large eyes but whose face looked almost boyish – grinned, his large eyes flashing with something as he took in his face. “I’m Weston Connelly, I’m here with James-”

“Weston, of course,” the stranger said, not a hint of recognition on his face despite his words. “I had a feeling it must be you. The hair and freckles, I suppose. I’m Benjamin, nice to finally meet you. I didn’t expect you to be on your own, I’d go to the kitchen soon, if I were you. I’m sure you’ll find someone who’ll appreciate your coming here.”

In front of that onslaught of quick spoken remarks, sounding both offhanded and accompanied by gleaming eyes, as if Benjamin was laughing internally to a joke only he got from all that, Weston stood puzzled for a couple of seconds, before realization dawned on him.

The Duke. He must be the Duke, since he knew of his name and his face, and it was the first time he met him. Who told him? James? Sean?

Edmund?

No, that was preposterous.

The Duke – Benjamin – had talked about James being in the kitchen. It had to be James. They were friends, and he worked for him. James was probably the one who sent-

“But, speaking of James, do you know where he could be? He came here, I hope.”

“He did. He’s with his… other colleagues. On business.”

“His colleagues on business,” Benjamin repeated, “now that’s going to be fun. Thanks.” Before he could wonder about the meaning of fun, a woman walked to them, her gaze obviously shifting between him and Benjamin. “Hey Ray-”

“This is Weston, right? Nice to meet you,” she offered him her hand when he nodded, “I’m Rachel. This is my husband,” she added, pointing at Benjamin.

“And this is my wife,” he repeated, chuckling when she shook her head fondly at him, the two of them painting a picture that made Weston’s gut clench with envy. “I was just telling him to go to the kitchen.”

“Follow that corridor, it’ll be the second door on your right,” Rachel indicated, discreetly pointing at a closed door, not at all the direction in which James had left when they had entered.

Though some time had passed since then, and so Weston thanked them both and wandered there, his awkwardness completely gone. The corridor they had led him to was silent, leading to a series of closed doors Weston didn’t open, except for the second one on his right.

As he neared it, a beautiful woman stepped out, nearly crashing into him, before sniffling haughtily and striding to the door that would lead her back to the party, her high heels clicking on the wooden floor and her long, curly blond hair bouncing with every step she took. Inside the room, a half-bitten sigh made itself heard, one Weston’s ears, his brain, his heart, and his gut recognized immediately, despite not having heard it for a couple of months.

Not thinking on how embarrassing or hurtful this could turn out to be, he rushed to the kitchen, his own breath catching in his chest at the sight of Edmund, standing there with a whisky glass filled with water.

Edmund.

Edmund was there, and all the things Weston had been thinking on saying to him, if he were to happen on him by the purest hazard flew away from his mind as his eyes drank in the slicked backward black curls, and the parted lips which corners twitched upward.

Edmund. His Edmund, close enough Weston could cross the distance and touch him, if he wanted.

“Weston,” he breathed out, “you came.”

“Yes, I-” He swallowed, his tongue heavy and his heart hammering, all nerves lighting up as if it were the first time he saw him.

It certainly was, without that ugly-ass uniform.

Fuck, now was so not the time to get aroused. They were at a fucking party. At The Party.

“They told me to come to the kitchen,” he said instead, after clearing his throat. “Rachel and Benjamin.”

Edmund grimaced, and stopped taking his smallest steps forward. “So, you met Ben? This is embarrassing…”

“Sorry,” he replied, his nose scrunching slightly.

“No, I mean, for me. It’s embarrassing for me. Ben can be… special. One might need some time to get used to him. He’s got a strange sense of humor.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. I think he seems nice. He’s that friend of yours, right? The ones who sends you all those romance books, _as a joke_?” The last part was obviously dripping with sarcasm, as they both knew it was more a matter of Edmund loving them than any sort of joke. Waiting for that great passion they wrote about, the one which would lead him to that great love he was awaiting.

That same passion that had swept Weston’s entire theory about love. The very one that threatened to surround him in its warmth just now, as he stood at least five steps away from the one it was all directed at.

“The one and only,” Edmund said. “So… you look good, you seem well. I’ve heard… I’ve heard you’re still with your boyfriend, that’s great.” Cold doused in his gut at the not-at-all-offhanded-sounding remark, and he opened his mouth to explain. “Though about the jobs, I can’t p-”

“It’s because he doesn’t want to break up!”

“What?”

“I mean, I told him about… yeah, and he told me it was alright. He doesn’t want to break up. And yes, about the jobs,” those were the precise point, weren’t they? “I can’t very well just thank him and say goodbye, after everything he did for me.”

“He’s not- Nevermind. Nothing.” Edmund’s chest heaved under his shirt, his lips tightly pinched together and his eyes looking away, perhaps in the least attractive expression he had in his range. Then, in a smoother voice, he said, “You did plenty for him, as well. Plenty more than him. Like going to jail for something you didn’t commit. You don’t owe him anything.”

If I hadn’t went there, I would have never met you.

But it wasn’t really something he could say, could it? It would be considered weird, to not blame James for sending him to jail in his place, not because it allowed his family to get better jobs, but also because had he not, never would he had crossed paths with Edmund.

“He still-”

“You don’t need to be two to break up,” Edmund added, his head jerking to a point behind Weston. He wondered if he was talking about James, or the girl he had seen getting out of the kitchen. The one he fucked outside and who looked a lot like him. To know it might have been her had Weston’s stomach twist into knots. “Otherwise no one would ever break up. And if you’re staying with him just for the jobs,” he added, mumbling the words after hesitating for a second to say them, “don’t. Don’t, _please_.”

With two large steps, Weston had crossed the distance between them, his hands finding their places, one at the small of his back and the other going to Edmund’s hair, pulling him close and kissing him.

“I don’t want to stay with him,” he muttered against Edmund’s lips, feeling a weight had been lifted off his shoulders at the confession. The other’s presence hadn’t lost a tad of its magic, and being near it, even after two months apart, was soothing and comforting.

“Then don’t,” was replied in a similar fashion. Simple. Easy. “Come with me, sweet one, let’s leave.”

Nodding enthusiastically, Weston let himself be pulled in for another kiss, before they both stumbled to the door, Edmund murmuring, “Not this one, there’s another way,” when Weston tugged toward the door leading to the living room, where he had come from.

After a following of turns, they found themselves outside quickly enough, and then to an elevator which took them a floor up, and then before another closed door, leading to one of the two apartments on that floor, Edmund pulling out a set of keys to open it, and Weston clinging to his back and laying impatient kisses to his neck. He groaned when Edmund pulled out a card, as well.

“That’s really necessary?”

His huff and complaint stuck in his throat, however, when the door finally opened and he caught sight of the inside. Damn. A large room, probably the same size as Weston’s own apartment, but only for a corner sofa, a television set and walls literally littered with bursting bookshelves, a fireplace. His jaw dropping slightly, Weston turned to stare interrogatively at the other, immediately noticing the awkward shuffle of feet and the returning interrogative glance.

It made his lips tug in a fond smile, and his mind discarded the background to focus on the man he had missed and longed for so much, who was right back in front of him. Edmund led him to one of the doors, the one to the bedroom, kissing him and making Weston’s heart soar and his gut ache as he murmured how much he had missed him.

“I missed you too,” Weston murmured back, “Couldn’t think of anyone else but you.”

“Me neither.” Weston’s hands stilled their unbuttoning, as he briefly entertained the thought of asking what was on his mind, before deciding against, not wanting to ruin the mood or his pretty picture. That was without taking into account the sharp eyes which never miss anything. “What is it?” Edmund asked, his hands coming to wrap around Weston’s.

“What about that girl? The one you were talking about just before I came here? I saw her leave the kitchen,” he added.

“I know which one you’re talking about. I called her because we had a meeting, before, with future associates, and she’s part of the image we need to display. And usually, we’d fuck after those. I warned her I wouldn’t, this time, but it was the first time I saw her since I was released and I suppose she thought I’d have changed my mind in the meantime.”

“So you don’t like her anymore?”

“I never did.”

“But you guys had a sort of agreement. I mean, is it fine if you’re not fucking her anymore? Do you not mind?”

It was Edmund’s hands’ turn to still at his questions, before he pointedly raised his eyes to meet Weston’s. “She’s a whore. I’m sure she’s glad for the free time.”

Oh. Well, that did point things to a different perspective. “So we’re good?”

“We are.”

“Good,” Weston said, hooking his fingers on Edmund’s belt and pulling him closer, so their noses were brushing, “now come here and kiss me.”

“Always so impatient.”

This he was. The absence hadn’t quelled that at all, and Weston’s last coherent thought before pleasure swashed him off was something about wind, flickering flame, and blazing fire.

It was quick, it was urgent, it was frantic. Half undressed, his tie hanging loose around his neck, and rutting in Edmund’s fist, feeling the press of his palm and fingers on one side, and the drag of his dick on the other. Alternating between kisses, breathless laughter that turned him lightheaded at the feel of Edmund back within his arms, and moans and whines and whimpers as his back arched, his head tilted back and toes curled.

As soon as both their breathing slowed down, however, and despite his single wish to do nothing but burrow himself under the covers – although those looked freshly cleaned – of that unknown bed and cling onto the other until the need gnawing at him felt finally satisfied enough to let him go farther than right next to him, Weston still had manners and wasn’t entirely fucked out. Or, well, that much.

Not that much that he’d forgot about more urgent matters. Namely, not getting caught.

“What’re you doing?” Edmund’s question, sounding groggier than Weston would have excepted coming from him, as if he was seconds ago from falling asleep in his friend’s – at least, Weston hoped – bed, made him stop, one leg still on the bed while the other was outside.

“Shouldn’t we leave before your friend noticed we fucked in his bed?”

“What?”

“Like do you know where the bed sheets are stocked? Or the-”

“Wait, wait. My friend?”

“Yeah.” Weston paused, suddenly unsure. Edmund hadn’t said it, it was true, but he had looked a bit uncomfortable when they had come in, so, “This is the Duke’s apartment.” Another pause. Weston grimaced, feeling his ears warm up, suddenly. “Is it not?”

“Do you still like that James guy?” Edmund asked instead, his eyes grave and serious, not answering anything and making Weston blink several times in confusion.

“No,” he still said, although it felt clear enough for him. Judging by the absence of relieved sigh or anything else, it felt like such for Edmund as well, which was even more confusing. “Why? What does it have to do with the Duke?”

Edmund sat up and sighed, but otherwise didn’t make any move to get out of the bed. “Because it’s me,” he said then, and- what?

“What do you mean it’s you? Who’s you?”

Were it literally any other situation, Weston would have bit his tongue at his sheer denseness, but instead he just stood, brows furrowed, waiting for an answer that’d make sense. Because what Edmund was saying sounded just… not even ludicrous, simply… impossible.

“I mean it’s me. The Duke. Not that I use the name at all, nor does anyone else I know but, yes. If we’re talking about who the press calls the Duke, then it’s me.”

“You kidding me,” was his first reaction as the concept of it all slowly made its way to his mind. But- but the Duke was James’ _boss_ – damn boss, everyone called Edmund boss, and not because they were in the Green Mile. “You’re just,” he swallowed, “just a guy.” A _murderer_ but- “Not some… some mafia lord journalists call the Duke.”

“I’m not a _mafia lo_ -” Interrupting himself, Edmund’s voice turned slightly tentative, his face easier than ever to read. The shift was felt by Weston as well. As they were meeting outside of the prison walls, it seemed they were tearing down their own as well. “Is that going to pose a problem for you?”

“I don’t know, you tell me!”

“It’s not going to pose a problem for me, beautiful,” Edmund said, in that calm, soft voice of his, that made Weston relax while he had started to pace in the room, his pants still half unbuttoned and his belt loose. “I like you, and I think we’re good together.”

“We are,” Weston acquiesced, “it’s just surprising, is all. I thought…” Yes, what did he thought? He thought James- “Holy shit. Holy shit. He doesn’t, right? James ‘s not working for you, then, since- He told me he was working for the Duke, while we were- but you were with me and- He’s got nothing to do with the jobs the- you offered my siblings. You’re the one who did that.” The other nodded, although frankly it was an unnecessary clarification. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“As strange as it may sound, some guy I met a couple of months ago – really nice, you’d like him – taught me gratitude only takes you this far, and that some things are better given freely, and not as a reward or because someone feels like they owe it to you. At first, I had no idea you knew people who worked for us, and then I did, when you refused to come to work for Fabian, you looked more scared of that persona you’ve had of me, I didn’t know how to reconcile the two. And then, it was over and I had to leave. After that, I heard you were still with your boyfriend, and I didn’t know what to do for a time, before I had the idea to invite you here. And now here we are.”

“So James never worked for you?” Weston said, it wasn’t even a question anymore, simply in waiting of confirmation, his stomach burning with anger.

“No. I don’t do drugs, I never have. Fabian’s in charge of that.”

“What are you in charge of, then?”

“Security. Brothels, a bit, with Benjamin.”

“The Kid.” Benjamin.

“Himself.”

“And so you- wait,” Weston said suddenly, feeling his anger transform to icy coldness spreading to the tip of his fingers. “If James doesn’t work for you, then that means my ace- I- your name wouldn’t have helped me. If you hadn’t been there.”

He raised his eyes to Edmund’s contrite expression, though his eyes blared with as much condescendence as the very first times he had seen him. “No.” Fuck, he was going to kill him. “Sorry. If someone had come to me, telling me some drug dealer at a prison, who knew someone called James Gardner, had claimed to know me, I wouldn’t have lifted one finger to help him. Without meeting you, I’d have no idea who you or him were and- Where are you going?”

“Got something to do,” Weston gritted through his teeth, his voice rough and pulling his clothes back on him before he rushed out of the apartment and back to the one James fucking Gardner was hiding in.

He hurried from room to room, glancing around and switching to the next one when he didn’t glimpse James’ hair. In less than two minutes, he had found him, drinking a glass of champagne by himself, standing in a corner and talking to no one.

Because he didn’t know anyone, Weston realized. The thought, instead of making his steps falter and his fists loosen, sent a shot of energy through his body and made his jaw clench even harder.

James’ quickly widening eyes were the last thing Weston saw before he punched the surprised panic out of his face, the sound of his fist hitting the other’s nose and the wail that followed in the now deadly silent room sending a satisfied smirk to tug at his lips.

“Why did you lie?” he demanded, his heart twisting in his chest when James didn’t even ask for clarification, didn’t try to deny it, only coughed, making blood drizzle down his nose, as he tried to stand on his own two feet again.

“For you to stay with me,” he said. “That’s what I only ever wanted! Because I’m not blind, and I know you’re so out of my league, baby, and I want you to stay with me. I want to keep you with me.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Benjamin’s face split in a large, wicked grin, when he announced he was breaking up with him, as James’ crumbled.

As for him, and he didn’t know what to make of this just yet, but he was feeling more relieved than he thought he should, although breaking up did was something he had wanted.

“You can’t,” James protested, his eyes wide and glistening with tears and his fingers tightening around the table corner he was leaning on. “I love you. I did everything for you. And I don’t want to break up!”

“I don’t care what you want,” Weston muttered, though perhaps more for his own sake than James’ or anyone of the guests who had stayed to watch the current drama. It was a reminder, something he had to keep in mind. He didn’t love him anymore, he loved someone else, someone he wanted to be with. He owed the man nothing. Except thankfulness for the past two years they had spent- No. “Nor about your feelings,” he resumed in the same tone, too low for everyone to hear, “since you obviously don’t care about mine. Do you know what would have happened, had I needed to my ace? What was your plan, then?”

“But you didn’t. I trusted you that you wouldn’t need it. I trust you!”

Then, everything was said and done, he thought, making a move to turn around and leave for good. With a little luck, Edmund would still and they would spent the evening together, in bed. To be true, Weston didn’t feel like leaving it for a while, after everything that happened.

But James’ hand grabbed his wrist, smearing the rented suit with blood and pulling him close. “Wait!” he cried out, his voice wobbly and his eyes pleading, begging, “don’t denounce me. Please. I can’t- I can’t go to prison. Please. I’ll never survive there.”

“I won’t,” Weston vowed, before he jerked his arm free of the slippery hand and finally turned around, loosing himself amongst the small crowd that had gathered around them.

He only wanted to go back to Edmund’s apartment, but didn’t make five steps when a too-heavy arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him to a plump chest belonging to a man who looked well over fifty.

Coughing at the putrid smell of overdosed cologne, Weston didn’t have the time to wiggle out of the unwanted touch or even roll his eyes at what was sure to be coming when it did come and way-too-old guy opened his mouth. “You’re right, pretty boy, and-”

The swift kick to the ankle, not too hard, just serving as a mere warning, accompanied by a “Fuck off,” no less hearty, was thankfully enough to shut him up, and he snatched his arm away from Weston’s shoulders as if it had burned him, obviously not expecting such kick from a pretty boy.

Not ten seconds later, Weston felt Edmund press behind his back, and reaching over to clap the man on his shoulder. “He doesn’t like being called that,” he added, and it didn’t need to be more for the older man to scurry off, muttering something that resembled both an apology and an excuse. They used the opportunity to leave the room and James behind them, as well, for good. Then, once the main door was closed behind him, Edmund turned to him. “It’s gonna get really tiring, really fast, isn’t it?”

Weston snorted. “Welcome to my life,” he retorted, his smirk softening when he caught the affection – love, it was love, he was sure of it – in the other’s eyes and face. And entire demeanor.

He was sure of it, yes.

“And welcome to mine, Weston,” Edmund said back, talking like a promise. A promise and declaration all of the same, accompanied by a brush of their hands until their fingers entwined on their own as they stepped inside the elevator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end!
> 
> I didn't plan for this to be this long, or get this plotty (because this was supposed to try my hand at writing and posting smut) but here I am, and here we are!
> 
> Thanks to everyone who is still reading this fic, who kudoes (or already did), who commented (or is about to do so), who bookmarks it, who plans on coming back to read it, or who enjoyed it. I'm really glad you did, and was/am always happy to see it!
> 
> So I'm only going to end this by wishing you and all your loved ones a nice day/week/next years! <3
> 
> \--==--
> 
> And just a tiny bit of self-advertising (because if I don't do it, then who will). I hesitated a bit before putting it there, because now I'll do it since it's here and I wasn't sure before, but here I go.  
> This is not the main initial work involving those two characters. In fact, I have the (beginning of) the story sitting in my draft and being slowly in progress of writing since a couple of months. I just used the main characters for this fic, like a smutty prison au fanfic of my other story.  
> The other is a _very_ different one (Historical AU, Best Friends to Lovers trope, more romance than Porn With Plot), but if anyone is interested, I created a series for easier search.  
> I won't post this next fic in the following weeks, that's certain, but you can subscribe to the series if you think it might interest you :)


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